ATLAS TRANSLATES

The fire grew smaller as the cold wind penetrated everywhere. The boy moved closer with his frostbitten hands. The fire died out.

A wisp of white smoke curled around his snow-covered eyes and brows.

Children his age despised him, deliberately throwing snowballs at him. The boy had a bad temper – he grabbed someone and shoved them into the snow. That child got a mouthful of snow, their neck and cheeks turning red as they sat on the ground.

They cried.

Adults ran over to comfort them, pointing accusingly at the instigator – first saying he had no parents, then calling him a beggar who would grow up to be homeless. That this would be his life forever.

The boy stared at them expressionlessly, kicked their knee pit, causing them to bend and fall into the snow pile, drawing gasps from everyone around.

“You little beast—” Before the curse could fully leave their throat, chaos suddenly erupted around them.

Someone pushed through the crowd, losing half a shoe, shouting frantically—

“It’s Master Shaku! He’s here again! Everyone run! Scatter and don’t let him catch you!”

“Run! What are you standing there for?”

The boy reacted slowly, getting roughly pushed into a snowdrift. By the time he got up clutching his parents’ urn, the streets were deserted.

Snow covered the firecrackers. Looking up at the gray sky, the boy exhaled deeply, running forward with his parents’ ashes and a crude Buddha statue. He saw many corpses along the way.

He panted heavily, turning into a small alley, thinking the old dog wouldn’t chase him here. Lost in thought, he tripped on a protruding stone slab.

The Buddha statue flew out as the boy tumbled through the snow, his knees covered in bright blood. He desperately reached for his parents’ urn as snow gradually covered his hands.

He had been discovered.

Master Shaku approached with a smiling face, knife in hand, as the boy’s heart sank bit by bit.

The old man smiled: “Child, didn’t they tell you to run?”

The boy lifted his face mockingly, showing no fear: “Run? If you’ve got the guts, just kill me.”

His injured knee meant he couldn’t escape anyway. Death was death – just bad luck. He hugged the urn tightly, his lips hard and tight.

Master Shaku licked his bloody curved blade as snow fell mercilessly.

Just as it was about to fall, he seemed to see orange sparks flying through the snowstorm, like falling starlight. Was it an illusion?

The boy’s eyes widened.

A girl in a peach dress leaped down from mid-air, gripping a red and white blade reversed, flames covering her entire hand, forcing the opponent back almost instantly.

She pointed at Master Shaku and said rudely: “Old thief, you insulted my sister. Did you think I wouldn’t find you?”

Master Shaku didn’t even have time for last words before she stabbed him, and he collapsed with a thud. His blood splashed perfectly onto the stone statue’s eyes, like drops of crying cinnabar.

On the thirtieth day of the twelfth lunar month, the Buddha opened its eyes.

The boy slowly lowered the arm shielding his face, staring at her for a long time, his dry lips parting slightly.

The girl’s snowy cheeks were slightly flushed, her light water-colored skirt fluttering.

She looked back at him.

The snow began to melt.

…

“Hey, how long has it been since you ate? You’re so thin.”

She put away her blade and walked over to ask him.

The boy watched her warily: “If you’re going to kill me, do it quickly. I’m not hungry.”

Silence fell for a moment. Snow landed on his cheeks.

She crouched down and said: “Don’t worry, I’m a good spirit. I don’t kill innocent people. When I was young I often went hungry too, I know how unpleasant it feels. Come on, let me treat you to something to eat.”

The boy held the Buddha statue in his hands. He didn’t quite remember the taste of that bowl of noodles, only remembered that she stared at her noodles until they got cold without eating, propping her face up, saying softly: “I don’t eat green onions.”

Chopsticks reached into her bowl.

He carefully picked them out, telling her very fiercely: “I haven’t used these chopsticks. I don’t like owing people favors.”

Her sleeve lifted slightly, revealing many whip marks on her arm – old wounds unhealed as new ones appeared.

The girl’s gaze lingered for a moment before quickly looking away: “Times are truly hard. Coming from the south, I saw refugees everywhere. Luo Dan is constantly invaded by foreign tribes, endless warfare. Those corrupt cultivators love to take advantage of such chaos.”

“If only Luo Dan had a powerful general, they could quickly stabilize the turbulent situation and reclaim lost territory. Their lives wouldn’t be so difficult.”

He suddenly asked: “Would you come back to Luo Dan then?”

She paused: “Perhaps.”

Then I’ll wait for you. Don’t forget.

The snow seemed to stop.

…

After she left, the boy joined the army.

It happened to be during Luo Dan’s reforms. When the Favor to Relatives Edict came down, legitimate sons of military officials were unwilling to share power with illegitimate sons. Many submitted petitions of protest, causing court upheaval amid internal and external troubles.

Some worried about the reforms, while others rejoiced.

The new laws gave many commoners opportunities to become marquises and ministers.

Far from the imperial city at the frontier, yellow sand rolled endlessly, broken halberds sank into sand. Dreams of home drifted with barbarian flutes, soldiers’ shouts rang out one after another amid horn blasts. The moon hung over the horizon as eagles circled overhead. Bodies fell from siege ladders, smoke pressed down on the mournful cries of the dying. Looking down showed only scattered limbs, countless dead.

A youth climbed the city wall, an arrow already in his arm. He looked likely to die there soon too.

Another arrow shot at his heart. He dodged sideways, blood spraying across his cheek, but he seemed to feel no pain as he kept climbing, beheading a soldier on the wall before they could throw down stones. Cheers thundered.

The military flag was planted atop the tower.

Lost territory reclaimed. Made general in one battle.

He was seventeen that year.

Title: Fu Qi.

It took just one year to pacify the border conflicts.

He had been to war, rolled among corpses, enjoyed playing barbarian flutes on tower walls, treating wounds, countless times remembering that snowy day of his youth and the girl’s features that were growing blurry in memory.

—”If only Luo Dan had a powerful general, they could quickly stabilize the turbulent situation and reclaim lost territory. Their lives wouldn’t be so difficult.”

—”Would you come back to Luo Dan then?”

—”Perhaps.”

That “perhaps” meant perhaps many years later, she finally came.

The young general returned triumphant, seeing her fall from the sky in the distance, drawing his bow to loose a swift, precise arrow. As he released, he deliberately made the arrowhead wobble slightly.

Aimed at the lanterns in the sky.

That year, he shot down nine hundred and ninety-nine lanterns.

For her.

But he still refused to admit it.

Because she truly didn’t recognize him.

To a spirit’s lifetime, he wasn’t even a passerby.

He didn’t know how to make her remember.

Didn’t know how to make her favor him.

If only he were a spirit too. No. If only he were a cultivator. Then he could kill that long-haired talkative man by her side. Wanted to pinch her face. Wanted to grab her hand. Wanted to lock her in prison with just the two of them, wanted to * her until she cried.

Realizing what he was thinking, the youth bit his lip.

To hide these base thoughts, he always wore a fierce expression. Whoever provoked him suffered.

…

He had his thoughts.

She had her path.

Leave when it’s time to leave, come when it’s time to come, never letting her gaze linger anywhere. The youth endured for a long time until he couldn’t anymore, waited for her for a long time, waited for her to return to Luo Dan again.

Fine, then he would confess everything, regardless of the outcome.

After all, she would forget anyway.

But that day when the youth found her.

He saw her standing beneath thousands of mirror blades, pupils blank, face full of despair.

Inside the open door lay her sister’s corpse. The blood had already congealed.

The youth’s mind buzzed as he ran over to shield her, taking nine layers of mirror arts for her.

That pain was better borne by him.

You are my paradise.

My life’s only love.

The end of the story.

Actually, it was also the true beginning.

…

After death in this life, the young general waited for her a long time at the Bridge of Helplessness. Though he could have entered reincarnation long ago, he refused.

Entering reincarnation alone was too lonely. He wanted to go with her, even if she didn’t remember which ghost he was.

The City of the Dead had no stars. Almost every year he would light eternal lanterns for her by the River of Forgetfulness.

Xue Xiao Jiu.

Probably no one had ever called her that.

May you live ten thousand years.

And then, I will wait for you forever.

The inn’s lanterns lit year after year, window paper blurry, more and more ghosts gathering to peer out the windows each year.

“Who’s that person lighting lanterns? I seem to always see him. He waits at the Bridge of Helplessness every day.”

“Seems like… he was a general in life.”

“The eternal lanterns in the City of the Dead are exchanged with merit. He killed so many in life, yet exchanges for so many lanterns – has he considered himself?”

“I feel like he seems quite happy. Whatever, he’s just a foolish ghost.”

But the foolish ghost they spoke of lit many eternal lanterns, yet never waited for that girl to return. What he waited for was only news of her death.

Not an ordinary death, but death by heavenly lightning, soul and spirit scattered.

Those who hated her in the City of the Dead all cheered, saying she and Du Di Zhu had fought like dogs for years and finally met divine punishment. Among the crowd, the youth shed bloody tears, desperately trying to cross the River of Forgetfulness to enter reincarnation to look for her.

Even Lady Meng didn’t understand his obsession.

Death by heavenly lightning truly meant no resurrection.

In the world after her death, the peach blossoms withered. No one cared who would collect her bones after death, no one buried her. There wasn’t even a corpse.

The youth saw on the Stone of Three Lives how the girl personally built a grave for him who died tragically under mirror arts, thinking this life’s journey to the mortal realm wasn’t in vain. How wonderful.

I’ve already toured this City of the Dead once for you, so you won’t get lost when you come.

I’ve already waded through these waters of extreme punishment for you, so that’s that. Don’t be afraid anymore.

So Xue Xiao Jiu. This time it’s my turn.

Cannot let your bones be lost.

Cannot let your soul scatter.

Cannot leave you without a memorial.

To avoid drinking Lady Meng’s soup, he forcibly crossed the River of Forgetfulness, using his last breath to reach toward reincarnation, reborn as an orphan who ran to the very bottom of Wuxiang Mountain, slowly climbing up.

He didn’t believe her bones were truly lost, thinking after finding them he would give her a proper burial, best in a place where peach blossoms bloomed, so she wouldn’t feel lonely.

Blood covered the moss.

Du Di Zhu thought some crazy ruler had sent assassins, grabbed the youth by the neck, laughing disdainfully before throwing him down the mountain, cursing: “Even more presumptuous than Xue Jiu Ling.”

The pain of being smashed to pieces probably wasn’t much better than heavenly lightning?