Chapter 3: The Waters of Forgetfulness

When Wu Rui’an returned to the cabin, he noticed that Di Jiang’s door was slightly ajar. Peering through the gap, he could see her sleeping face bathed in the soft morning light. A ray of sunlight illuminated her luxurious silk-covered bed, and her long lashes fluttered gently in the glow. Though her eyes no longer held the same sorrowful expression as last night, her tranquil and serene features still left him entranced.

Fighting the urge to embrace her, Wu Rui’an retreated hastily back to his own room. Lying down on the bed, he found himself unable to sleep. As he stared at his open hands, his mind replayed images of Di Jiang’s frail and delicate body—so soft, so fragile, so sweet. Even now, he could still feel the warmth of her slender shoulders nestled against his chest, her head resting on him, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist. This image lingered in his mind, making it impossible for him to find rest. After much tossing and turning, he finally mustered the courage to go check on Di Jiang.

Just as Wu Rui’an sat up, he noticed a thick mist rising over the vast river. In the distance, shadowy figures moved faintly within the dense fog.

How could there be people on the river?

“Bring the boat closer,” Wu Rui’an commanded as he walked to the stern, pointing toward the overlapping shadows in the distance.

The ferryman’s eyes, like tiny green peas hidden in layers of wrinkles, showed no defiance. Without hesitation, he steered the boat toward the indicated spot.

As they approached, Wu Rui’an realized that several fishing boats had capsized in the storm. Their overturned hulls lay exposed above the water, and about a dozen people stood atop them—men, women, young and old. They wore blank expressions, neither crying nor showing fear, their eyes fixed unwaveringly on the green lantern hanging from the stern of the pleasure boat.

“The storm last night must have caused these boats to capsize. Fortunately, their spirits seem intact, though they appear weary. It seems no one was injured,” Wu Rui’an observed carefully, relieved to see that none of them were hurt.

The ferryman grinned eerily, tilting his head to look at Wu Rui’an. His smile sent chills down Wu Rui’an’s spine, but there was no time to dwell on fear. All his thoughts were focused on helping those who had been stranded by the storm.

“Come aboard and rest. I’ll take you to shore,” Wu Rui’an called out, tossing ropes to the people below. “Meeting is fate. Let me give you passage.”

He spoke without realizing that this boat belonged to Di Jiang and that he himself was merely a passenger. Without hesitation, he took charge of the situation, failing to notice the inscrutable look on the ferryman’s face behind him.

The ferryman remained calm, rhythmically moving his fingers in sync with the faint glow of the green lamp. One by one, the figures standing on the capsized boats climbed aboard under his guidance.

“You may rest at the bow and stern. Be gentle; my wife is resting in the cabin. Do not disturb her,” Wu Rui’an instructed softly, as if determined to protect Di Jiang with every fiber of his being.

The rescued individuals nodded woodenly, following his directions and sitting quietly at the bow and stern.

Their attire appeared ordinary, and Wu Rui’an saw nothing amiss.

“Give them some water. They’ve been adrift all night; they must be exhausted,” Wu Rui’an assumed their silence stemmed from shock and busied himself tending to their needs.

Unable to bear watching any longer, the ferryman finally rasped, “Young Master, why don’t you rest? Old man will take care of them.”

“Thank you, Elder,” Wu Rui’an replied without hesitation. He had spent the previous day chasing after Di Jiang on horseback, endured a sleepless night due to the storm, and worked tirelessly since dawn to rescue these people. Exhaustion had pushed his body to its limits.

Indeed, he was utterly spent. After inspecting the boat a few times and ensuring everyone was settled, he returned to his room. Like Di Jiang earlier, he collapsed onto the bed and fell into a deep slumber.

The midday sun offered little brightness compared to the morning, further dimmed by the thickening mist. The pleasure boat drifted slowly southward, visibility reduced to less than ten zhang ahead. Occasionally, glimpses of withered willows along the riverbank added to the desolate atmosphere.

The winter chill intensified. The ferryman continued to wear his tattered, filthy hemp clothing, yet not a single wrinkle marred his brow. His gaze remained fixed on the passengers aboard the ship. Having long lost the five senses of mortals, his sole duty was to guide souls to the other side.

Di Jiang awoke in the evening. Opening her door, she was immediately struck by a heavy sense of death. The words “ripples yet to subside” echoed sharply in her mind.

Stepping out of her room, she glanced around and spotted over a dozen lingering spirits sitting at the bow and stern.

What are lingering spirits?

They are freshly deceased souls, appearing outwardly unchanged from when they were alive.

“What is going on?” Di Jiang frowned, carefully avoiding the spirits as she made her way to the ferryman at the stern.

The ferryman bowed deeply, visibly nervous. After a moment, he raised his head and said, “It was the Young Master who brought them aboard.”

“Young Master?”

The ferryman nodded.

Di Jiang realized he was referring to Wu Rui’an.

Ordinary people cannot see spirits, but Wu Rui’an could because the ferryman straddled both realms of Yin and Yang, allowing him to perceive what others could not.

“I understand,” Di Jiang said coldly, her tone distant. “In the future, do not meddle in such matters. Without your assistance, they would not have boarded this ship.”

“Yes...” The ferryman’s aged, hoarse voice trembled slightly, betraying his fear. Seeing that Di Jiang did not intend to punish him, he sighed in relief. “Then what should we do with them?”

“Find a shore and let them disembark. Just ensure Wu Rui’an is not disturbed,” Di Jiang instructed.

The ferryman nodded and steered the boat toward the nearest flicker of lamplight on the shore.

By dusk, wisps of cooking smoke rose from a village along the Long River. Families were preparing dinner, and the aroma of food woke Wu Rui’an and Wen Yao from their slumber. Both leapt up eagerly, drawn by the scent, and made their way to the deck. By then, the lingering spirits were already disembarking one by one.

“They...” Wen Yao gaped, staring at Di Jiang in confusion.

Di Jiang subtly motioned for silence, and Wen Yao closed her mouth.

“They are fishermen from this village. Now that they’ve reached home, they’ve disembarked,” Di Jiang explained to Wu Rui’an.

Wu Rui’an nodded approvingly. “Very well. That was precisely my intention when I brought them aboard.”

“Your Highness’s kindness is commendable. On behalf of these villagers, I thank you,” Di Jiang said with a respectful bow, though inwardly, she gritted her teeth in frustration.

These lingering spirits would soon be escorted to the underworld by ghostly officials. Wu Rui’an’s interference was unnecessary. If they remained on board for another day or two, their forms might change, or exposure to sunlight could cause them to disintegrate, never to be reborn. Such an outcome would incur grave karmic consequences.

Fortunately, today’s sunlight was obscured by clouds and mist, and she had awoken early enough...

Once the last spirit had disembarked, the ferryman retracted the boarding plank and resumed his position at the stern, steering the boat back toward the center of the river. Onshore, the spirits raised their right hands in unison, waving goodbye to Wu Rui’an. Their faces bore wooden smiles, seemingly expressing gratitude.

“No need to thank me! Helping those in need is what I live for. Saving a life is better than building seven pagodas!” Wu Rui’an waved back enthusiastically.

Beside him, Wen Yao shivered, forcing a weak laugh. “His Highness has a kind heart. Let’s hope he never discovers the truth.”

“Who can argue with that?” Di Jiang chuckled, finding the prince amusing.

The pleasure boat rippled away from the village. Looking back at the shore, only faint traces of ghostly flames and the faint tinkling of bells remained visible.

To Wu Rui’an, those were bells.

But Di Jiang knew—they were the chains of ghostly officials.

“Your Highness, do you believe in ghosts?” Di Jiang asked softly, approaching Wu Rui’an.

“Ghosts?” Wu Rui’an paused, then laughed heartily. “I believe in their existence, though I’ve never seen one.”

“Aren’t you afraid of ghosts?”

Wu Rui’an smiled tenderly, leaning closer to Di Jiang. Trapping her between the ship’s wall and his body, he whispered, “Compared to darkness and ghosts, I fear your sadness and frowns far more.”

Upon hearing this, the ferryman’s body trembled, and he cast a strange, knowing smile toward Wu Rui’an.

Meanwhile, Wen Yao clasped her hands together, her face filled with romantic awe.

“Is that so? Then all is well,” Di Jiang said with a faint smile. With that, she slipped past him and returned to the cabin.

Before entering, Di Jiang shot the ferryman a cryptic glance. At the same moment, a clear instruction materialized in the ferryman’s mind: “The waters of Forgetfulness can erase emotions. Serve him a cup.”

“Yes...”

Half an hour later, the ferryman set up a banquet, inviting Di Jiang, Wen Yao, and Wu Rui’an to dine. Hungry from the day’s events, the three readily accepted.

Under the night sky, the moon hung half-obscured by mist, casting a melancholic glow. Di Jiang, Wen Yao, and Wu Rui’an sat facing each other at the bow, savoring the shimmering moonlight and sharing drinks.

Di Jiang poured a generous amount of crystal-clear liquor into a smooth white jade cup and handed it to Wu Rui’an. “This wine is called ‘Forgetfulness.’ I purchased it from the villagers onshore. Please, taste it.”

“Good!” Wu Rui’an waved his hand dismissively and drank it all in one gulp. Wiping his mouth, he laughed heartily, “Excellent wine! Exce...” Before he could finish, his face turned green, his brows furrowed, and beads of sweat rolled down his forehead. Clearly, he was in great pain.

Whatever he intended to say next remained unsaid. Moments later, he waved his hand weakly, unable to utter a word, and hurried off to the restroom, clutching his stomach.

“What’s wrong with His Highness?” Wen Yao asked, puzzled.

“It’s nothing. He probably ate something bad,” Di Jiang replied with a faint smile. Turning around, she discreetly poured the remaining waters of Forgetfulness into the rushing river.

“What a waste! I didn’t even get to try it!” Wen Yao lamented loudly.

“You can’t drink it,” Di Jiang said, shaking her head.

“Why can’t I?”

“That was water from the River of Forgetfulness. Drinking it erases emotions. You have no beloved, so drinking it would serve no purpose other than causing stomachaches for days.”

“Then why did you give it to His Highness?” Wen Yao felt a sinking sensation in her chest. Sure enough, Di Jiang replied, “Wu Rui’an’s feelings for me cannot exist in this world. I cannot allow him to continue indulging in them.”

“Why not!” Wen Yao exclaimed urgently. “Why can’t you love him?”

“Because I am no mortal... Moreover, in my heart, there is someone irreplaceable. How can I selfishly keep this peerless prince tied to me? That would be creating karma...”

Di Jiang’s clear voice mingled with the crisp, chilling wind, seeming to drift through layers of mist toward the banks of the Sanzu River.

Wen Yao imagined Wu Rui’an after drinking the waters of Forgetfulness, forgetting Di Jiang entirely, no longer doting on her with devoted affection. He would return to being the aloof, admired prince, untouchable as the moon itself.

He would once again become the iron-blooded prince praised by the world, showing no mercy to commoners like herself.

Wen Yao sighed deeply, torn between conflicting emotions. After much thought, she realized she preferred the image of Wu Rui’an cherishing Di Jiang wholeheartedly...

Perhaps, deep down, she hoped he would never truly forget.