Chapter Fifty: A Personal Audience with the King of the Underworld

“You must come back—there are no ifs!” Weiyang looked at me as she spoke, her voice firm. She had said this was the last chance, the final hope. I nodded, asking no further questions. In truth, I already knew the answer; I simply wanted to hear it from her lips. Yet she never spoke it aloud, which at least meant she wished not to hurt me.

The Thirteen Streams of Yunmeng were known as a place of deadly peril—a place where, no matter how many entered, only one would survive. Even that sole survivor would have braved death itself, making it a trial of the utmost danger.

For someone like me, who possessed no skills or special abilities, to return from such a place would mean I had found that one and only chance, the singular opportunity Weiyang had been waiting for. So, if I returned, I would be the one she awaited.

The Thirteen Streams of Yunmeng lay in a deep, winding gorge, a maze of thirteen intersecting valleys without any roads—only sheer cliffs and precipices. Weiyang prepared a rope for me, and I climbed down into the abyss. Before I descended, Weiyang reminded me, “Remember, you must return within two days!”

I glanced back at the vast tangle of ravines below. Two days to return—it felt almost impossible. I wasn’t even sure I could traverse all the valleys in that time. After all, I had no idea what awaited me at the bottom.

“The Mountain God’s Token in your hand—your grandfather needs it too,” Weiyang added. Her words made my heart tremble. She was right: my grandfather had just over two days left. If I delayed below, it would cost him his life.

“In two days, I will return!” I promised.

“I’ll be waiting for you here,” she replied.

“All right.”

It was reminiscent of our marriage pact—a similar exchange, the same undertone of resolve. Remembering those moments only strengthened my determination: no matter what, I could not remain in the Thirteen Streams. Watching Weiyang stand on the cliff, lost in thought, her hair billowing in the breeze, her red dress like a blaze of fire—her beauty was still intoxicating.

I, Lin Yi, am not a coward. Weiyang, wait for me. I will come back.

Beneath the cliffs, a chill mist swirled. As I made my way down, the gorge below seemed shrouded in perpetual twilight. I looked up; the sky above was no longer as clear as before. Dark clouds scudded by, streaked with lightning, as if foreboding some looming disaster.

Each of the thirteen ravines held a tomb and a coffin, yet Weiyang had said there was only one true burial site. It might be a hanging coffin, she suggested, so I should search the cliffs themselves. I wandered the valley floor, feeling like a frog at the bottom of a well—finding a tomb here was daunting.

Yet I bore not only my own life, but my grandfather’s and Weiyang’s hopes as well. I could not fail or give up.

I pressed on, but as I was crossing a narrow stream, I heard the sound of hooves ahead. Instinctively, I hid in the undergrowth and saw four ghostly soldiers on horseback searching for something.

How could there be ghost soldiers here? We had heard nothing of the underworld’s involvement, yet they were already here, entering before us. But hadn’t Weiyang said that without the Mountain God’s Token and the nectar of the Other Shore Flower, entry into the Thirteen Streams was impossible?

Regardless, I had to avoid them. Once they passed, I hurried in the opposite direction, putting as much distance between us as possible. After searching two ravines, I found no trace of a tomb.

Perhaps Weiyang’s guess about the hanging coffins was wrong? Or perhaps the true secret of the Thirteen Streams wasn’t a hanging coffin at all? Whatever the case, I had to find the tomb before the ghost soldiers did—if they found it first, I might never leave.

I searched with renewed urgency. A day passed—a full cycle of day and night. I avoided the ghost soldiers and scoured nearly every ravine. Apart from the eerie atmosphere, the place seemed just like any other mountain valley. I realized that the safer I felt, the further I was from the truth.

Had I made a mistake?

With only a single day left, I could not afford more delays. I returned to where I had first descended, surveying each direction. Suddenly, I sensed something amiss—the scenery didn’t match my memory, though I couldn’t pinpoint the difference.

“Look ahead—someone’s there! Seize him!”

A shout came from behind. The four patrolling ghost soldiers were charging toward me. I tried to flee, but vines sprang up around my ankles, binding me tight. The soldiers flung out bronze chains from four directions, and I was instantly trussed up.

The leader of the ghost soldiers demanded, “Who are you to trespass in the Lesser Netherworld?”

Lesser Netherworld? What was that supposed to mean?

Their tone suggested they were not outsiders but rather the regular guardians of this place.

Without hesitation, I produced the Mountain God’s Token. “The Mountain God of Old Boundary Ridge is here!” I declared.

At the sight of the token, the soldiers dismounted in shock and bowed. “Forgive us! We did not recognize the esteemed Mountain God.”

One of them muttered, “But isn’t the Mountain God Lin Tianjian? How can it be this boy? Sir, could he be an impostor?”

The leader scrutinized my token. “It’s genuine. Perhaps Lin Tianjian has stepped down and this is the new Mountain God.”

Seizing the opportunity, I said, “Since you acknowledge me as your Mountain God, why am I still bound? Are you not afraid of divine retribution?”

At once, the soldiers snapped to attention, removing the chains and retracting the vines.

“Forgive us, Mountain God!” they begged, kneeling.

I was quite pleased and said, “No need for formalities—rise!” For once, I borrowed my grandfather’s aura to command respect.

“Mountain God, with all your pressing affairs, what brings you to the Lesser Netherworld?” the leader inquired. He looked like the ghost soldiers I’d seen before, yet something about them was subtly different.

“Isn’t this the Thirteen Streams of Yunmeng?” I asked.

“The Thirteen Streams is its name among the living. In the underworld, we call this place the Lesser Netherworld,” the leader explained.

“Do you know if there is a tomb here?” I asked directly. If these soldiers patrolled here year-round, they would surely know. With the authority of the Mountain God, perhaps they would share a clue.

“Of course we know,” the leader replied.

That answer pleased me. I pressed further, asking for the exact location. The leader answered, “We lesser ones do not know the tomb’s true location. If you wish to find it, you must ask our King Yama himself.”

The mention of King Yama made me realize the Thirteen Streams hid more mysteries than I had imagined. With no other leads, I had no choice but to meet this King Yama.

“Very well, lead the way!”

They summoned a pitch-black palanquin and gestured for me to enter, saying they would take me to King Yama. I had an aversion to such palanquins, suspecting them to be coffins in disguise, so I insisted on walking. But the soldiers insisted that, as an honored guest, I must ride, lest King Yama hold them accountable.

Left with no choice, I bit my tongue to keep alert. Fortunately, the palanquin did not turn into a coffin, so I settled inside.

The journey was a swaying, unsettling ride. Feeling stifled, I lifted the curtain for a glimpse outside. On both sides of the path, blood-red flowers of the Other Shore bloomed in full splendor.

Could this be the Yellow Springs Road?

A chill ran through me. The underworld had long been coveting my life—had I been truly lured into the land of the dead?

Sensing danger, I shouted for the procession to stop, but the bearers ran even faster. I made to leap out, but to my horror, I discovered two women seated on either side of me. Their lips were blood-red, their faces deathly pale, and when they noticed my gaze, they turned to me and smiled—a smile that chilled my soul.