Lord Seventh( QI YE) by Preist

Chapter 1. Seven Ephemeral Lives

In our first life, we would become burial mounds made of rocks, our love inseparable.

In our second life, we would destroy the rocks, connecting our destiny, walking side by side.

In our third life, we would burn the jades, promising that we would belong to each other whether in life or in death.

The equinox flowers blooming along the path were as crimson as blood. The water of the River of Forgetfulness flowed calmly, three thousand years to the east, then three thousand years to the west. Wandering spirits came and went; they walked on the road to the Underworld, crossing the Bridge of Helplessness. After drinking the Mengpo tea, they would forget everything in their previous life. People crossed the Stone of Three Lives every day but none ever spared it a glance, showing that the cycle of life and death was a mere phase of muddiness to the mind1.

There was someone sitting beside the Stone.

It was a man who only looked like he was in his late twenties when one looked closer. He was dressed in a long blue2 robes with large sleeves, a roughly carved flute carried by his hip. His hair was as white as snow, left untied and loosened around his figure.

The man had his back to the souls on their way to Hell, facing the cold hard stone. He merely sat there with his eyes closed, unknown whether he was asleep or awake, seemingly unaware of the fact that someone had been watching him for a very long time.

Hu Jia was a newly appointed Ghost Official and had only been around for approximately forty years. Ever since he took notice of the white-haired man, he had never seen him move an inch. After reporting his work, he would stand over here and stare at the other man for a while.

The Underworld was the realm of the ghosts, but that was not to say that ghosts would not exist in the world above in broad daylight either. Sometimes when his mood was down, he would stare at the man and found himself at ease shortly after, his mind strangely as calm and quiet as the sitting figure.

Suddenly, an uncannily pale hand rested on Hu Jia’s shoulder. Despite being a Ghost Official, he could not help but feel a chilling sensation emanating from that hand, snapping him out of the trance he was in. Turning his head, he saw Bai Wuchang’s3 pasty face. He patted his chest, turning to the man and gave a formal salutation, “Sir Soul Reaper.”

Bai Wuchang gave him a faint nod of the head, lips unmoving but the words he said could be heard very clearly. “Go tell him, that the time has come for him to move on.”

“Me?” Hu Jia startled, looking at the white-haired statue-like figure, then back at Bai Wuchang again, “This is… I…”

“It’s fine,” Bai Wuchang spoke calmly, “Back then I had reaped the wrong soul, dooming him to a fate of separation and desperately seeking after his love for so many lifetimes. He has not been able to be at peace for hundreds of years now, I’m sure he has no intention of speaking to me.”

“Yes, Sir.” if the Reaper had said so, then he had no reason to disobey. After some hesitation, he asked, “How… How should I address him?”

Bai Wuchang looked surprised for a moment before replying in a low voice. “Just call him Lord Seventh like everyone else do, he’ll surely respond to that.”

No longer stalling, Hu Jia approached the man.

Back when he was still a living being, he heard a tale told by a private school scholar during his childhood: In ancient times, there was a legendary painter. One day, he scrawled a dragon on the wall for no reason, and this dragon had no eyes. Passersby asked him about it in confusion, and he answered that if he drew the eyes, the dragon would become real and flew away. No one believed him, and the artist had no choice but to add a few strokes. After being given the eyes, the dragon truly came alive, letting out a roar and flying to the clouds above; that was the “adding dragon eyes” legend.