"If you can choose a bowl that is not poisoned, then you shall become my disciple."
In a dilapidated temple, Qui Lect knelt on a cushion before a shrine. In front of him, seven bowls of murky wine were arranged in a row. Beside him stood an elderly man in a gray Dao robe, his hair tied in a Dao style topknot, his hands clasped behind his back. His voice was cold and detached.
Not far away, a dark coffin lay silently in the shadows, emitting a sweet, bloody scent, like a lurking beast.
Qui's eyes were fixed on the seven bowls of wine, his heart churning with emotion.
This was a world where one could seek immortality through Dao cultivation. Qui Lect had been reborn here when transmigrate and had lived for sixteen years. In this realm, there was no underworld, thus souls did not enter the cycle of reincarnation, and they wandered among living beings which leaded overgrown of evil spirits and ghosts in the land. Survival for ordinary was a brutal, heart-pounding trial in such domain where terrifying devils and monstrous beasts ruled with iron claws.
Qui Lect was lucky. Not only had he survived to sixteen years old, but also encountered a cultivator willing to take him as a disciple.
However, the requirement of which was unusual.
Among the seven bowls of wine, only one was safe to drink. The other six contained a deadly corpse poison.
As Qui Lect pondered, the gray-robed elder spoke again, "If you choose wrong, you can still join us."
"But as a corpse puppet."
With a wave of his sleeve, the elder opened the coffin, and two dark shadows flew out, landing docilely in his hands. They were a set of skinning tools and a blood-stained shroud covered in talismans.
The elder glanced at Qui Lect, then selected a willow-leaf-shaped knife, as if preparing to begin the process of creating a corpse puppet.
Qui Lect understood. This was the elder's way of selecting disciples.
One out of seven chance to survive and gain the opportunity to enter the path of cultivation.
Many had come before him, all perishing from the poisoned wine. Today was the elder's final day of accepting disciples in this area...
Taking a deep breath, Qui Lect extended his hand, pretending to hesitate. His eyes and fingers moved back and forth between the bowls. After a few moments, he seemed to make a decision and quickly chose the fourth bowl from the left.
Without hesitation, he lifted the bowl and drank its contents in one gulp.
The strong liquor burned his throat like a sharp blade, and within moments, he felt a surge of warmth in his abdomen, invigorating him.
Watching Qui Lect selected the bowl, the elder, slightly surprised, nodded and waved his sleeve. Tools and shrouds flew back the coffin.
"The North Star is destined to wane, Seven lights ordain fate's reign."
"Your fortune is exceptional," the elder said. "You have chosen the path of life."
"From now on, you are my disciple."
"The night approaches. Rest now and return at dawn."
Qui Lect bowed humbly. "Aye, Shifu!"
The elder waved him off, and Qui Lect exited the temple with full respect. Outside, a small courtyard lay in disrepair, overgrown with weeds and moss. The sunlight filtered through, casting dappled shadows from a dead, gnarled tree.
The elder waved him off, and Qui Lect exited the temple. Outside, a small courtyard lay in disrepair, full of weeds and moss, with hissing sound of snake and bugs vaguely heard. The setting sunlight filtered through a dead, gnarled tree, casting dappled shadows on the ground.
Nothing's found on the dead tree, yet shockingly there in the tree shadow near to the temple yard entrance, a slender figure was seen hanging from the branch, swaying like a pendulum clock. It was a hangwoman, her hair disheveled and feet bare.
In the shadow on the ground, hangwoman swing back and forth as if on a swing.
Qui Lect frowned and without hesitation, he quickly moved to the farthest side of the entrance and climbed over the wall, avoiding the tree's shadow.
Once outside, he hurried down the road, feeling the chill behind him gradually fade, then silently relieved.
But soon, a thick fog rolled in, accompanied by the distant sound of festive music.
Through the mist, a procession of red-clad figures walked towards him, carrying a bridal sedan. Gongs and drums were beating and beaming with joy.
Wind rolled up the bridal sedan curtain under a gust of ill wind. A pretty bride sat inside, her phoenix crown and red veil making her appear both beautiful and eerie. Beside her sedan, pale maids wore strange smile on their painted deep red cheeks, creepy eyes stared straightly at Qui Lect. Theirs smile keep unchanged like this happiness moment had been paused forever.
Ghost marriage!
Yanked the hood lower, turned and fled into the nearest alley, he quickened his pace. As Qui Lect knew very well of this town, he veered off the main path, taking a winding, roundabout route to shake off the marriage parade. The lively notes of flutes and tambourines grew fainter with every step.
Took a second, locate his whereabout, Qui Lect then walked towards home.
As dusk fell, the town grew darker, a faint haze blurred the edges of the world. Approaching his home, Qui Lect noticed a gaggle of children frolicked in the open field—completely drenched from head to toe. Water trickling in steady streams from their soaked clothes and plastered hair, as if they'd danced through a rainstorm. They laughed and joked, seemingly unaware of their condition. The once-dry field had transformed into a muddy puddle. And there, half-buried in the muck, Qui Lect spotted some scattered fragments of broken joss money.
Amidst a chorus of giggles, one of the kids piped up, "Did you hear? Lao Zhao's second son finally got married yesterday! But—pfft—he didn't even graze his bride's hand in the bridal suite!"
Another chimed in, barely holding back a grin. "He put one shoe forward, while the other backward. How's a bride supposed to find the bed with a groom that dumbness?"
The rest of the gang erupted in laughter, "Haha! Serves that fool right!"
Qui Lect ignored them, darted into his house, locked the door behind him. The silence wrapped around him like a soft blanket, and for the first time all day, his shoulders slumped in relief.
The town was becoming increasingly abnormal. Ghosts roamed the streets, outnumbering the living. That even occur before sunset.
The town was slipping deeper into chaos with every passing day. Ghosts swaggered through the streets, outnumbering the living. And this madness kicked off before the sun even dipped below the horizon!
If he failed to get that disciple spot today, he doubted he would survive much longer.
While thinking, he stepped into the inner room, preparing for the rest.
He leaned down to under the bed, carefully placed his shoes one forward, one backward before slipping beneath the cover.
A full day on the walk. Qui Lect is exhausted. The moment his head brushed the pillow, it was as if the world melted away.
No idea how much time had slipped by when Qui Lect finally blinked groggily, his mind still wrapped in a hazy fog. He realized sitting on a grand armchair that wobbled beneath. Before him stretched a double pedestal desk, its surface rough and weathered. The hall around him felt like a grand, vast lobby that had seen better days. Now, it was just ruins. A gaping hole punched through the ceiling overhead, letting in a relentless, icy wind
His gaze drifted to the desk, and there it was—a single, ancient book. Its cover was yellowed and cracked. And then he saw the title, three words in crimson blood:
Births and Deaths!