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Oddly enough, the streets of Ghost City were teeming with life. Yin Yu wrapped himself in his worn cloak and looked around warily through the slits of his mask.
The Heavens were never this cold, not even in winter, but here the temperatures had fallen significantly lower than in the mortal realm, where autumn was only just beginning. Although, Yin Yu remembered, deities were not affected by the cold, and he had been a deity once, though it now seemed more like a foggy dream.
Maybe it was better this way.
Gods feared neither the frost nor the heat, but Yin Yu could recall perfectly the unbearable heat of the day he had destroyed three lives with one word.
With a crooked, deranged smile on his face, with hatred boiling in his veins. And then his robes were splattered with fresh blood, and crimson pooled before his eyes, into which fell a head, then a body clad in golden armour, and in the scorching rays of the sun there was a flash of death.
The fire blazed just as brightly in the clear sky when a black shackle was placed on the killer's wrist. The cool metal gleamed, burning the skin.
He was not allowed to attend his friend's execution, but before his fall from the Heavens he heard the sound of a blade cleaving through flesh for a second time.
Sometimes he envied him.
All of a sudden, his thoughts were interrupted by a harsh voice:
"Watch where you're going!"
A demon with a bear's head shoved past him. Yin Yu half-heartedly tried either to apologise or to make a cool remark, but something unintelligible came out and he simply shrugged. The demon walked by without looking back and disappeared into the crowd.
He could watch, Yin Yu thought, but where he was going, not even he knew. It was already his second day of wandering around the strange city of the dead, where he had ended up by pure chance; his attempts to find out how to leave it were not met with success, only a few suspicious and derisive glances, and he was beginning to understand why. The street, shrouded in crimson mist, stretched on ceaselessly, meandering like a snake chasing its own tail. Perhaps there was plainly no way out.
It was an unpleasant thought. Being surrounded by ghosts was uncomfortable, and his tattered clothes offered little protection from the cold.
But on the other hand, he had nowhere to go anyway, and there was no one waiting for him—he had lost his job three days ago and there were none who would look for him aside from his former boss, though it was doubtful that even he would have bothered. No, he probably would've cursed a little, then gone on to find someone more capable.
It would be fine. He could get used to Ghost City. He could get used to anything.
Yin Yu walked further and further down the endless street while bright, obtrusive signs flickered around him and the discordant buzz of voices filled the air. Nobody paid any attention to him, which he would have liked to explain with the mask he had purchased hastily from a smiling six-eyed ghost, though he understood that was not exactly true. In any case, the mask provided a sense of security, albeit a weak one.
The street smoothly curved to the left, revealing a magnificent building akin to a bright red palace. An animated crowd had gathered in front of it, yelling, laughing, making all kinds of noise and cheering somebody on.
Yin Yu came closer. A fight had broken out inside the dense ring of observers, apparently a rather unequal one.
"What do you care about him?" hoarsely spat the demon with a bear's head. "You're a ghost yourself, why the hell are you defending that disgraced god?"
What?
His opponent, a tall ghost wearing a green mask, decided not to waste any words on him and instead punched him right in the face. The injured man cried out in pain, fell, and cursed through the blood pouring from his mouth, which caused more exclamations and laughter from the crowd.
Yin Yu felt an urge to break up the fight, but he was stopped by a sudden wave of hesitation. He froze for a few moments, caught in indecision. While he stood there, somebody pushed him, and he accidentally ended up right in front of the masked ghost, who was raising his hand to strike again.
Something in the ghost's movements seemed familiar to him. Old reflexes kicked in, his body moved by itself and Yin Yu used a familiar technique to try and block the blow directed at him.
But something was wrong—the ghost stopped at the last moment. He froze like a statue and, although Yin Yu couldn't see his eyes, he felt the weight of his firm gaze.
He was shorter than he had appeared from afar, and his build made him look quite young; his loose bun had become disheveled and a few curly dark locks were stuck to the bloodied mask, but even so, he radiated an unwavering air of power.
Yin Yu felt uneasy.
Suddenly, a voice rang out, placid, even bored, but it made his skin crawl:
"What's going on here?"
A tall man in red strolled out of the building with a languid gait, silver chains and jewellery jingling melodiously with each step. The noise of the crowd died down at once.
"Oh, Hua Chengzhu!" sounded a loud whisper. "They're in trouble, hee-hee-hee..."
Chengzhu?..
Of course.
Crimson Rain Sought Flower waved a dismissive hand at the demon lying on the ground with a broken nose, who quickly crawled away amidst whistling and laughter.
"Come," Hua Cheng said to the remaining participants in the fight.
There was nothing left to do but obey. The ghost next to Yin Yu didn't move at first, but after looking at Yin Yu, who had followed the city master, he advanced forward as well.
Before going inside, Yin Yu stole a furtive glance at the signs at the entrance, but they explained nothing and only left him confused—he couldn't make out what was written on them at all. The handwriting was far worse even than the "masterpieces" created by his ten-year-old shidi, which...
He felt eyes on himself again and hurried to catch up to Crimson Rain.
From the table in the middle of the sumptuously decorated hall Yin Yu realised they were at the infamous Gambler's Den. Countless pairs of eyes stared at the two ghosts and the former god, and not just pairs, as the number of eyes differed from one observer to another.
"Is everything okay?"
A beautiful young man in white cultivator's robes appeared from behind the translucent curtain separating a part of the hall.
"Don't worry, gege, everything's alright," replied the city master.
"Gege"? Puzzled, Yin Yu racked his brain, but didn't manage to recall anything about someone the Ghost King could be so close with.
That was when the young man in white noticed the curly-haired ghost. He must have recognised him, because understanding reflected on his face and he gave a conciliatory smile. The smile and the soft voice had a calming effect; Yin Yu had to remind himself to stay on his guard.
"Gege, I think you would be interested in speaking with them one-on-one," said Hua Cheng.
The young cultivator looked slightly surprised, but simply responded:
"Thank you, San Lang."
With these words he led Yin Yu and the taciturn ghost into a side hallway. Crimson Rain went last with a light ringing of silver. The whispers of the curious visitors of the Gambler's Den followed them until the door behind them was shut.
Even the hallway of the Gambler's Den was decorated tastefully, but Yin Yu paid little attention to his surroundings—all sort of thoughts flitted through his mind. The ghost in the green mask walked behind Yin Yu without taking his eyes off him. Yin Yu tensely gripped the edge of his cloak.
They were led into another hall, far smaller than the previous one but no less luxurious. Crimson Rain Sought Flower sauntered in front of them, examining them with sparkling dark eyes, while the white-robed cultivator stood nearby with his unfaltering smile. In spite of the mask, Yin Yu couldn't shake the feeling that they saw right through him.
He stared at the floor. The stubborn gaze of the ghost next to him was the worst part—it caused his thoughts to tangle, roll into a ball like thread, and slight shivers to run over his skin. It couldn't be him. It couldn't be. The bear-headed demon's words could have meant anything, the ghost could have learned martial arts in many places, and his curly black hair proved nothing. It couldn't be him, because if it was him, then... he had returned as a ghost? He was defending... Yin Yu? The traitor and murderer? No, it just wasn't possible.
Because if it was him... Yin Yu clenched his fists, trying to stop the uncontrollable trembling, but it was spreading throughout his body, and with each passing moment his composure cracked, giving way to the chilling fear which gripped his heart and mind.
"Now then," began the Ghost King, "to what do I owe Your Highnesses' visit?"
His mocking words made Yin Yu's blood run cold.
He knew.
"So that means..." the young cultivator turned to the ghost. "Qi Ying, is this really..."
Yin Yu couldn't take any more. He desperately rushed to the exit, knowing that he couldn't escape, that he would undoubtedly be killed, but death was better, a thousand times better than this. A white band tied itself tightly around his wrist, the shackle beneath it cut into his skin, and Yin Yu lost his balance from a sharp tug and fell to the ground. Someone grabbed him by the arm.
He had neither enough courage nor dignity to accept even a fraction of the punishment he deserved. He turned away, shut his eyes, making futile attempts to pull his arm out of the iron grip, he didn't want to see him, he didn't want to hear him, and a repulsive, scalding bitterness rose up and surged through his body.
Fingers stained with someone else's blood reached for his mask, he jerked away in horror, trying to fight back with his free hand, but his opponent caught it and looked right at him. Yin Yu was petrified. They were face to face now, and he saw painfully familiar eyes burning in the narrow slits.
The ghost hesitated, but released one of Yin Yu's hands, which fell limply onto his knees. He did not try to remove the mask. Instead, he slowly raised a palm to his face, and the next moment his own green mask hit the floor.
An unnaturally pale face framed by black curls appeared from behind it; a face once dearly loved, which used to shine with joy at every encounter; an abhorrent face, whose features Yin Yu could never quite erase from his memory.
In the fragile silence, Quan Yizhen softly breathed out a single word:
"Shixiong."