Chapter 87: Resonance of the Twin Mirrors

“Is that so? I didn’t notice. Anyway, what we need to do now is find out who’s behind all this!” Lingmei’s head ached as she recalled everything that had happened these past few days.

“What about that Temporal Divine Mirror? Give it to me! Let me take a look…” Wu Ming had already forgotten about the nine-tailed fox, and immediately switched into work mode as soon as he entered.

Lingmei shook her head, “My dear sect leader, see for yourself, it’s by your bedside. Just don’t open the wrong one—there’s a record of last night’s passionate storm in there…” With that, she walked out the door.

Wu Ming could only nod and reply, “Got it… beautiful senior sister.”

He picked up the mirror, turning it over and over in his hands, but no matter how he examined it, he couldn’t make sense of it. With a sigh, he muttered, “What a useless thing… Wait, I heard it can be activated with a blood ritual! Let me try.” Gritting his teeth, he pricked his finger with a needle and let a drop of blood fall onto the mirror, but nothing happened.

Wu Ming was almost driven mad with frustration. What a useless artifact—my Shanhai Mirror is better than this piece of junk! Muttering to himself, he fetched the Shanhai Mirror and compared it to the Temporal Divine Mirror.

At that moment, the two mirrors seemed to melt together like droplets of water. The Shanhai Mirror, being smaller, slipped right into the other, and as Wu Ming reached out to grab it, he was pulled in as well. The mirror became like a bottomless abyss, sucking Wu Ming inside.

“What’s happening? Ah…” Wu Ming felt himself sinking deeper and deeper, unable to break free. He tried using his spiritual power, but it was useless. Shutting his eyes tightly, he let himself fall.

When he finally reached the bottom, he felt as if he were floating, his mind blank. Before him stretched a sea of fiery red blossoms—magnificent and endless. This was the legendary Red Spider Lily, the Flower of the Other Shore.

Here, these flowers bloomed on the far bank; when the flowers bloomed, there were no leaves, and when the leaves appeared, there were no flowers. The two never met, forever passing each other by. Legend had it that these flowers grew only in the underworld, the sole scenery along the Road of the Yellow Springs.

They lined the banks of the River of Three Crossings and the shores of Oblivion, guiding souls to the afterlife. The blossoms were as dazzlingly red as blood, carpeting the road to hell in a burning crimson, earning the name “Path Lit by Fire.” Their scent was said to have the power to awaken memories of one’s past life. For countless ages, the Road of the Yellow Springs had been filled with these flowers, stretching into the distance like a blood-red carpet—the only beauty and color on the long road of the dead.

As a soul crossed the River of Forgetfulness, all memory of their former life faded, left behind on the distant shore. The departed followed the guidance of these flowers, treading the path toward hell.

Wu Ming walked step by step along with a scattering of translucent, ghostly figures. His mind was utterly blank; he knew only that he must keep moving forward.

Hell lay in the depths of the underworld, also known as “Yin’s Nether Court,” the place that governed the fate of all living things. All beings of the world, upon death, had their souls judged here, where all their deeds in life—good or evil—were settled. The living belonged to the world of the sun; the dead, to the world of the shade. Two worlds, forever apart.

“Where is this place?” Wu Ming asked, a little more clear-headed.

“This is… the depths of the Nether Court—the Eighteenth Level of Hell, the Hall of Yama!”

Before Wu Ming could react, a young man ahead of him exclaimed, “What? I, Song Shao, am a cultivator! I’ve long since attained the Immortal Golden Body!” The youth, exuding extraordinary presence, stood in the gloomy hall, pointing with two fingers at King Yama, who was sweating nervously in the center.

“What’s going on? You’re a cultivator, Song Shao? I’m a sect leader myself! Why am I here?” Wu Ming scoffed, but then realized something was wrong. “Actually, I shouldn’t be here either! Hey, hey, hey… I’m not dead yet!!” But no one paid him any mind.

Wu Ming’s heart raced. Could it be that I really died, and all my memories until now were just a final flicker before death? It’s over… Beautiful senior sister, I never apologized for spying on you in the bath… It’s all over… Qingqing, I never got to see you… Ru’er, your husband is right in front of me—will he beat me up? He looks pretty formidable…

“Let me check. Judge, quickly look up Song Shao’s name in the Book of Life and Death!” King Yama wiped the sweat from his brow, growing anxious. Outwardly, this fellow seemed cultured and mild, but who would have thought he’d barge straight into the Hall of Yama? Who knows which idiot underling caused this mess—it’s easy to invite a god, hard to send one away! I’ll have to punish that ghostly official later.

As the judge flipped through a golden ledger, he suddenly paused. “Lord Song Shao, it’s just as you said, but…” He handed Song Shao’s file to the ten Yama Kings for discussion.

Song Shao grew impatient. “But what?” he said, about to resort to force.

“Wait. You are indeed a cultivator, but there is a matter that requires you to re-enter the cycle of reincarnation. Don’t you want to know the reason, rather than cause chaos in the underworld? You are a man of status—at least, you once were…” said the Fifth King of Yama, dressed in black.

“A matter? What nonsense!” Song Shao said, preparing to unsheath his sword.

“How dare you, Song Shao! Out of respect for your status as an elder of the Primordial Dao Sect, I will overlook your trespass this once. Even the Daoist Sage Qing remained courteous when he came here! What’s more, no matter what power you wield, you cannot escape the decree of Heaven!” the ten Yama Kings shouted in unison. Of course, they knew that if things really got out of hand, it would be difficult to resolve. But the workings of Heaven were absolute—even the Eastern Emperor or Taiyi could do no more.

“Hey, I’m the sect leader of the Primordial Dao Sect. Deal with me first—he can wait his turn!” Wu Ming shouted from the back, but no one paid him any attention. He felt very disappointed.

“You are the ten Yama Kings: Qin Guang of the First Court, Chu Jiang of the Second, Song Emperor of the Third, Wu Guan of the Fourth, Yama of the Fifth, Bian Cheng of the Sixth, Taishan of the Seventh, Du Shi of the Eighth, Ping Deng of the Ninth, and Zhuan Lun of the Tenth,” Song Shao recited, his arrogance fading as he adopted a more respectful tone. “Your Majesties, can you tell me where my master is now? Has he already reincarnated?”

“There’s no rush—look through this golden scroll first. You’ve read it countless times, but one more won’t hurt.” King Yama handed the scroll to Song Shao, and Wu Ming squeezed in from behind to take a look.

“Wait your turn, little ghost! One at a time—this honored guest goes first!” said the Fifth Yama King.

“Honored guest? We’re all dead… Sigh, no comparison,” muttered a wandering soul.

After reading the golden scroll, Song Shao was struck with sudden realization. “King Yama, why is the ending blank? And what about Wu Ming? Am I to be reborn as him? How many times must I reincarnate, from my master’s life as the Daoist Sage Qing to this life, and then to the next?”

“That’s… as fate decrees. If you wish to know the answer, you must seek out the will of Heaven itself. If you cannot, you will be trapped in this cycle, repeating it every sixty years,” sighed the ten Yama Kings, as if this was the only solution.

“And me? What about me?” Wu Ming lunged for the golden scroll, but in an instant, everything vanished—the ten Yama Kings, Song Shao, the wandering souls—leaving only Wu Ming behind.

The once endless queue along the River of Three Crossings, leading to the shores of Oblivion, had always stretched on for ages, never growing shorter. Now, only a handful of scattered souls remained, and the patrolling ghostly soldiers were nowhere to be seen.

Even the Red Spider Lilies had become sparse; the once blazing, blood-red sea of flowers was gone, replaced by a sense of withering decay throughout the underworld.

“Wu Ming, my friend? What are you doing here? This is not your place. Go back,” said an old man.

“Are you Liu Lang? How—?” Wu Ming immediately recognized him.

Liu Lang spread his hands. “You still remember me, Sect Leader? Very good. I reckon you’ve wandered into the wrong time and space. Let me explain how to use the Temporal Divine Mirror…” Even on the Road of the Yellow Springs, Liu Lang didn’t forget to instruct Wu Ming, then added, “Whatever you do, don’t use it together with our sect’s Classic of Mountains and Seas. If you do…”

“What will happen? Tell me!” Wu Ming was anxious—he’d ended up here precisely because he’d done just that.

“What happens? They’ll resonate—doesn’t your current predicament say it all? Get back quickly, or the Shanhai Mirror will absorb too much of the underworld’s cold poison and harm the holder. Unless you want to reincarnate again?” Liu Lang chuckled, and then paid Wu Ming no further heed.

“Hey… you haven’t told me why the underworld has fallen into such decline! Hey…” Wu Ming still hadn’t finished his questions, but only an echo remained: “Hey… hey…”