Chapter 31: The Fifth Stroke
776 Words
The fifth stroke was called the "Dream Entry Stroke."
Zhu Quan said that once this charm was complete, you could enter anyone's dreams—the living, the dead, even demons and gods. Everything in dreams was real. Wounds suffered there would be on your body when you woke.
"What's the price?" Shen Moyan asked.
"The price is that whatever you see in the dream follows you when you wake." Zhu Quan's voice was heavy. "Those things will stay with you until you fall asleep again."
Shen Moyan looked at his hands. The black had reached the fifth knuckle, but that was the mark of the fifth obstacle, not the fifth stroke. He still had one charm to draw.
"Let's begin."
He closed his eyes and picked up the brush.
This time, he didn't draw on paper. Zhu Quan said the Dream Entry Stroke had to be drawn on the forehead—his own forehead.
The moment the brush tip touched his skin, the whole world went dark.
When he opened his eyes again, he was standing on a barren plain. The sky was grey, the ground was grey, and in the distance stood a tree, also grey.
Under the tree stood a person.
Lu Jiuyuan.
"What are you doing here?" Shen Moyan asked.
Lu Jiuyuan turned to look at him. In his eyes, 127 points of light flickered.
"Is this your dream or mine?" Lu Jiuyuan asked.
Shen Moyan shook his head. "No idea."
They both looked up at the tree.
It was covered with things—charm papers, Taoist robes, wooden swords, prayer beads, copper coins, bells… every item was black with age, like they'd hung there for centuries.
"This is my dream." Lu Jiuyuan said. "These things are all relics from my past lives."
He approached the tree and reached for a Taoist robe. The moment his fingers touched the fabric, the robe came alive—it flew down from the tree and wrapped itself around Lu Jiuyuan.
Lu Jiuyuan's body went rigid.
His face began to change—eyes smaller, nose higher, wrinkles spreading from forehead to mouth. Within seconds, he'd become someone else.
"I am Lu Jiuyuan." The person spoke, voice ancient. "First lifetime. Died in the Shaoxing era of the Southern Song Dynasty, executed as a traitor by Maoshan."
Shen Moyan stood nearby, watching it all.
The robe slipped off Lu Jiuyuan's body, fell to the ground, turned to ash. Lu Jiuyuan returned to himself, standing there, face pale.
"Keep going?" Shen Moyan asked.
Lu Jiuyuan nodded.
He reached for the second item—a wooden sword. The sword flew down and stabbed into his chest. His face changed again.
"I am Lu Jiuyuan. Second lifetime. Died in the Chunxi era of the Southern Song Dynasty, condemned as a demonic Taoist, burned at the stake."
The sword hit the ground, turned to ash. Lu Jiuyuan clutched his chest, where a bloody hole was slowly healing.
"Keep going."
Third, fourth, fifth…
127 relics, 127 possessions, 127 ways to die. Shen Moyan stood by, watching Lu Jiuyuan die over and over, and come back to life each time.
When the last relic hit the ground, Lu Jiuyuan knelt there, covered in blood, but for the first time, there was light in his eyes.
"I know now," he said. "I know everything."
He stood up and looked at Shen Moyan.
"127 lifetimes, 127 times killed by the Taoist community. Not because I was a demon. Because I knew a secret."
"What secret?"
Lu Jiuyuan opened his mouth to speak—
A hand reached from behind and covered his mouth.
Shen Moyan spun around and saw a dark figure standing behind Lu Jiuyuan. That figure had no face, only an outline, but that outline he recognized—
Zhang Shouyi.
"Can't say it." The figure spoke, the voice Zhang Shouyi's, but not quite. "Say it, and you'll both die."
Shen Moyan woke up.
He sat in the shop, brush still in his hand, forehead still aching. Outside the window, it was already light. Sun streamed in, warm.
But he was cold all over.
Because at the shop door stood a person.
Zhang Shouyi.
"What did you dream about?" Zhang Shouyi asked.
Shen Moyan looked at him, and for the first time, this boiler-stoking old man felt like a stranger.
"Dreamed you covering Lu Jiuyuan's mouth."
Zhang Shouyi froze, then laughed.
"That was a dream. Dreams have all kinds of things."
He turned and walked into the alley. Shen Moyan ran after him, but the alley was empty. No one there.
Only on the ground, a line of footprints. Not shoe prints—paw prints. Fox prints.
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