Chapter 103: The Floating Infant Head

Jiang Pingchuan sighed as he watched the mysterious woman depart. He had never imagined that the old man from East Continent City had been such a romantic figure in his youth, having even fathered a daughter with the sister of the Yin City Lord.

It was likely that the old man did not even know he had a daughter. As Jiang Pingchuan walked toward the gates of the City Lord’s manor, he reflected on the tangled fates of Feng Wuliang, the beautiful woman, the Palace Master, and the woman’s sister—it was truly a cruel twist of irony.

The sky had grown pale by the time Jiang Pingchuan exited the Yin City manor. He tried to retrace his steps to return to Yang City, but to his dismay, the layout of Yin City seemed to be in a constant state of flux.

Even when he returned to the places he remembered, the surroundings were no longer as he had seen them before. He could not tell if he was simply lost, if his method of returning to Yang City was fundamentally flawed, or if his very arrival from Yang City to Yin City had been a mistake from the start.

Unable to find the path back, Jiang Pingchuan had no choice but to follow the streets toward the city gate. He stopped a short distance away.

Standing beneath the gate tower was a man, his long robes fluttering in the wind. The man held a comb, constantly grooming his stubble while muttering to himself, occasionally striking a pose to admire his own shadow on the ground.

Seeing Jiang Pingchuan approach, the man tucked away his comb. He coughed twice, spat into his palms, rubbed them together, and smoothed back his hair before walking toward Jiang Pingchuan with a cheerful smile.

"What a magnificent bearing, young hero! What courage!"

As soon as he drew near, the man looked at Jiang Pingchuan with a fawning, infatuated expression, gesturing with exaggerated movements.

"You are too kind, City Lord Feng."

Seeing Feng Wuliang’s sycophancy, Jiang Pingchuan noted it was identical to the behavior of the old man from East Continent City—perhaps even more extreme.

"Hahaha! You are the sworn brother of Palace Master Gong, which makes you the sworn brother of Feng Wuliang. There is no need for such formality between us!"

Feng Wuliang laughed boisterously and clapped Jiang Pingchuan on the shoulder. Jiang Pingchuan felt a jolt of surprise; it seemed to him that everyone in the Yin-Yang City was a master of changing faces.

One moment they were somber, and the next, they were beaming with sweet words. Jiang Pingchuan actually preferred the man's earlier state; this sudden, unrestrained familiarity was difficult to accept.

"City Lord Feng, why are you in Yin City at this late hour?" Jiang Pingchuan asked, deciding to treat him like another Palace Master Gong and ignore his behavior.

"I saw that you were lost, brother, so I came to find you, lest you be bullied by that madwoman."

Feng Wuliang spoke with an earnest expression, though his voice wavered slightly at the word "madwoman," a detail Jiang Pingchuan did not miss.

Feng Wuliang’s strength was superior to the beautiful woman’s, yet for some unknown reason, the burly City Lord seemed deeply wary of her.

"Thank you for your concern, City Lord Feng..."

"Concern, my foot! I offered him wine and stories, yet that's worth less than three words from this old scoundrel? Jiang Pingchuan, oh Jiang Pingchuan, you are not a man of much insight."

Before Jiang Pingchuan could finish his sentence, the voice of the beautiful woman drifted from behind him. As she spoke, Jiang Pingchuan clearly felt Feng Wuliang flinch, his gaze darting about nervously.

"I shall keep the City Lord's concern in my heart..."

"Is giving him a drop of cat-swill considered concern? I even offered him two of my subordinates!" Feng Wuliang muttered, lowering his head. Jiang Pingchuan felt a sudden urge to laugh at the man’s mosquito-like tone, but he decided to play it cool, lest the two City Lords come to blows.

"Who did you offer him? Does he need your subordinates? Why didn't you offer your own son instead?"

The beautiful woman sneered, mocking Feng Wuliang. He kept his head bowed, one foot dragging back and forth on the ground.

"I *was* offering my son," Feng Wuliang whispered, his voice so soft that even Jiang Pingchuan, standing right beside him, barely caught it.

Jiang Pingchuan looked at the bewildered woman; he knew she hadn't heard him. What puzzled him more was how this woman, who had been dead drunk only a quarter of an hour ago, was now standing before him looking so sober.

"Don't be a coward! Speak up! You’ve been a useless wretch your whole life!"

The woman walked over and poked Feng Wuliang hard on his bowed head. Jiang Pingchuan stepped back reflexively, realizing there would be no fight between them after all.

"I said, the one I am giving to my brother as a subordinate is my son! Did you hear me now?"

Feng Wuliang lifted his head, his face flushed. He glanced at Jiang Pingchuan first, then glared at the woman, his aura suddenly that of a stout, upright man.

The woman stared blankly at the shouting Feng Wuliang, her expression momentarily dazed. But she quickly snapped out of it, her face darkening with irritation as she reached out and twisted his ear hard.

"Feng Wuliang, you’ve grown some backbone, haven't you? It’s only been a short while—what, do you want to be a 'real man' again?"

She twisted his ear, forcing his head back down. Feng Wuliang grabbed her hand, yelping in pain, before shaking her off and looking at her coldly.

"I *am* a real man, I don't need you to tell me that."

As he shook her off, he snuck another glance at Jiang Pingchuan. The woman sneered, her eyes darting toward Jiang Pingchuan as well.

Jiang Pingchuan finally realized that their usual interactions were likely not like this; they were only acting this way because he was present.

"My lords, could you tell me how to get to Yang City? I shall take my leave, and you two may continue."

Jiang Pingchuan cupped his hands, feeling no need to involve himself in their affairs; the two of them were like a pair of eccentric clowns.

"You tell him..."
"You tell him..."

Seeing them both speak at once, then stare at each other in silence, Jiang Pingchuan was left speechless.

"Can I ask both of you at the same time?" Jiang Pingchuan asked with a bitter smile.

"I won't say..."
"I won't say..."
"If he says it, I will; if he doesn't, I won't..."
"If she says it, I won't; if she doesn't, I will..."

Jiang Pingchuan watched them. Their synchronized bickering seemed rehearsed. When they finally stopped, he realized their words were entirely meaningless.

With an awkward smile, he cupped his hands again and turned toward the city gate. He realized that staying any longer would yield no answers.

As Jiang Pingchuan walked away, Feng Wuliang took the woman’s hand and led her in the opposite direction, disappearing into the night. Jiang Pingchuan reached the gate of Yin City and saw it tightly shut.

He reached out to touch it, but his hand passed through empty air. Thinking he might be able to walk right through, he tried again, only to slam his forehead against the solid surface.

He wondered if the joy of finding a way to end his nightmare had made him lose his senses. He shook his head and turned to look for another way, when suddenly, a strange, cackling laughter emanated from the gate.

In the center of the gate, the head of a small infant manifested. Its mouth was open, eyes wide, staring fixedly at Jiang Pingchuan.

Its purple-black lips twitched, murmuring something unintelligible. It would occasionally wail, then glare at him with gnashing teeth.

Jiang Pingchuan suddenly lunged, grabbing at the infant head on the gate. Instead of a head, his hand sank into a pool of fresh, crimson blood. His expression tightened as his palm pressed against the gate.

"Creeeak... Boom!"

The gate of Yin City opened automatically. Shocked by the eerie scene, Jiang Pingchuan walked out.

He did not notice that Feng Wuliang and the woman were watching his back with anxious expressions, calling out his name from behind.

But Jiang Pingchuan seemed bewitched, moving only toward the outside. By the time Feng Wuliang and the woman reached the gate, it had already slammed shut.

They pounded on the door, but it seemed as if it no longer belonged to the Yin-Yang City; no matter how they pushed or struck it, the gate remained unmoved.

"Hehe, come here, come here, come chase me!"

A thin mist drifted before Jiang Pingchuan, reflecting the moonlight and making the environment even more macabre. A short distance ahead, the infant's head floated, beckoning him with a childish voice.

"Who are you?"

Jiang Pingchuan quickened his pace. The head only turned back to giggle, refusing to answer. He followed the small head, step by step, deeper into the thickening fog.

The moment he entered the dense mist, the infant’s mocking laughter echoed in his ears. After walking a few steps toward the sound, he suddenly realized he had lost his way.

The density of the fog, from the ground to the sky, was terrifying—it felt like a physical substance filling the space.

"High Priest, the man has arrived."

Zhao Wenjie looked at the scene manifested in the bronze mirror and spoke to the High Priest sitting behind him. The High Priest stood up, pulled the hood of his dark red, spider-patterned robe over his head, and ignored Zhao Wenjie.

He walked out of the tent, and beneath his feet, thick fog began to rise, enveloping his body.

As the mist slowly dissipated, the High Priest was nowhere to be seen.