Chapter 21: Resting Place

Tao Yu gave a faint smile and closed her eyes, two streams of tears sliding down from the corners of her eyes, dripping onto Meng Zichang’s hand. Suddenly, his hand trembled, and he let go of the sword hilt.

What did it matter that he had killed Tao Yu now?

It could never bring back the once-innocent sisters.

They had wasted their lives because of his earthly attachments—what right did he have to blame her?

Realizing this, Meng Zichang collapsed to the ground, no longer daring to look at Tao Yu.

But Tao Yu continued to stare at him intently, as if trying to etch him into the deepest recesses of her memory. As she gazed, her body gradually turned into streams of sand, some falling to the ground, others scattering in the wind, until finally, she vanished completely...

From then on, there was no more Tao Yuan, no more Tao Yu.

Only Meng Zichang remained, bound by the spiritual curse, unable to live or die. He would endure a lonely existence, devoid of flesh, heart, or soul, suffering endlessly...

“I still couldn’t see Tao Yuan one last time...” Meng Zichang wept blood-tears, murmuring softly.

At this moment, Di Jiang handed him the peach branch. “This peach blossom was the one that helped her ascend to immortality. If you couldn’t meet her in life, meeting her in death is just the same. As long as she lives in your heart, she will never truly leave.”

Meng Zichang looked up, trembling as he accepted the peach branch, holding it as though it were an invaluable treasure, afraid to damage it in any way.

He carefully cradled it close to his heart, then slowly crawled to a patch of higher ground, using his ten dried-up fingers to dig into the charred earth.

“I want to bury her with my own hands, and then be buried alongside her,” Meng Zichang said with a contented expression. Zhong Xu immediately stepped forward to help, but before he could approach, Meng Zichang added, “In life, I couldn’t do anything for her. Let me put in this effort after her death.”

“...” Zhong Xu stopped moving closer. Alongside Di Jiang, they stood ten paces away, watching as Meng Zichang painstakingly dug a deep pit inch by inch with his ten frail fingers.

He placed the peach branch belonging to Tao Yuan into the grave, then carefully covered it with soil, meticulously building the tomb.

Exhausted and in immense pain, blood flowed from all seven orifices, mingling with the bloody streaks under his eyes—it was unclear whether they were tears or blood. He lay quietly on the mound, a faint smile appearing on his face.

That smile carried happiness, sweetness, and a sense of liberation.

Zhong Xu and Di Jiang exchanged glances, both sighing deeply. When they turned back to look at Old Master Meng, they saw that he was no longer beside the grave. Instead, there was a pile of white bones.

He had transformed into a pile of bones lying atop the grave, and the earlier scene of blood and tears seemed like nothing more than an illusion. Everything had happened abruptly and silently.

Seeing this, Zhong Xu intended to bury him alongside Tao Yuan.

“Don’t touch him!” Di Jiang quickly stopped him.

But her warning came too late. Zhong Xu’s fingertips had already brushed against the bones. In an instant, the pile of bones turned to ashes and scattered in the wind, vanishing completely...

“What happened?” Zhong Xu’s expression stiffened, astonished.

“Alas...” Di Jiang sighed softly. “He died fifty years ago. After fifty years, what else could he be but dust...”

“...” Zhong Xu lowered his eyelids, his expression dazed, seemingly aware that he had made a mistake, leaving him feeling weak and powerless.

“You don’t need to blame yourself,” Di Jiang consoled him. “Perhaps this isn’t a bad thing. Maybe this is how they are finally together.”

“You don’t need to comfort me,” Zhong Xu replied, his expression dark and distant. “They couldn’t be together in life, and now, because of me, they can’t even rest together in death. It’s all my fault for being useless!”

“...” Seeing this, Di Jiang said nothing and simply pushed aside the grave.

“What are you doing?!” Zhong Xu exclaimed, rushing to stop her. But Di Jiang pushed him away and, in a few steps, destroyed the grave that Old Master Meng had painstakingly dug.

At this moment, the grave was empty—there was nothing inside.

“Where is Tao Yuan?” Zhong Xu exclaimed again.

“Tao Yuan and Tao Yu were originally formed from the essence of the peach forest, born as immortals. Without roots, prototypes, or reincarnation, they wouldn’t leave behind physical bodies after death.”

“But I clearly saw a peach blossom...”

“That was an illusion I created,” Di Jiang shattered his final hope. “Otherwise, how could we cure Old Master Meng? The antidote to his curse was Tao Yuan. If he couldn’t see Tao Yuan one last time, he would never find peace in life or death. Could you bear to see him live like that?”

In truth, when Di Jiang saw the golden-lacquered Buddha statues, she had already roughly understood what had transpired. What she hadn’t expected, however, was that there were so many lovesick and embittered souls in the world—most of them unfaithful, carrying a lifetime of infamy. In the lives of Yangchun Manor’s wealthy master and the Peach Blossom Immortal, a century-long attachment still lingered: “For the smallest kindness you showed me, I will never leave your side.” Tao Yuan had kept a vow for nearly a hundred years and even died to protect Tao Yu.

Meng Zichang, too, had clung to a bond, enduring the greatest pain and suffering life could offer.

By fulfilling his final wish, Di Jiang had guided him through this trial.

Zhong Xu was so shocked he couldn’t speak. After a long silence, he finally said, “So that’s how it is... So this is your medicine.”

“Yes, healing ghosts is about guiding them. Ghosts are already dead—they don’t fall ill. What I heal is their hearts.” Di Jiang spoke with calm indifference, but to Zhong Xu, her words struck like thunder.

Every word she spoke seemed to turn into a blade, piercing deep into his heart, tearing it to shreds.

He had been young and accomplished, the most gifted disciple among his master’s students. By his early twenties, he had become the abbot of Baiyun Temple. Before now, he had always believed that eliminating malevolent spirits was the best outcome. He never considered that perhaps the living suffered more than the dead. He had vanquished countless vengeful ghosts, becoming a savior to many.

He had never thought to save people using Di Jiang’s methods; his vision was solely focused on destruction.

The belief that sustained him was simple: “Exterminate all demons, eradicate all ghosts.”

But now, suddenly, he began to doubt whether his belief was truly correct.

After all, one’s belief is the sole driving force that keeps them moving forward. This belief had followed him for twenty years, and only now did he begin to question whether he was truly suited for this path...

Perhaps he, too, needed an opportunity—a transformation.

Zhong Xu wandered off in a daze, only to encounter Wen Yao, who had rushed over upon hearing the news.

Seeing his dejected expression, Wen Yao asked, “Master, what’s wrong with him?”

“He needs some peace,” Di Jiang said calmly, watching his retreating figure.

“Who’s Peace?” Wen Yao looked confused.

“...” Di Jiang rubbed her temples, unwilling to respond.

“What just happened? Where’s Old Master Meng?” Wen Yao pressed.

Di Jiang recounted everything to Wen Yao. After listening, Wen Yao’s face grew troubled, and she lamented, “They’re truly pitiful.”

“Yes, Meng Zichang loved Tao Yuan and wanted to give her a good life. Tao Yuan believed Meng Zichang wanted success, so she considered falling from grace to change his fate. As for Tao Yu, she abandoned her immortality just to earn a trace of Meng Zichang’s pity, only to be trapped beneath the peach grove for nearly a hundred years without seeing the light of day. The three of them loved each other, yet they also hurt each other—all because of love.”

“Is there any way to save them?” Wen Yao asked anxiously.

“There is. It’s said that before the Buddha’s lotus seat, there is an eternal lamp. Just one drop of its oil can absorb the essence of all things. With a single thought from someone, it can rebuild a body, nourish the three souls and six spirits, and then allow them to enter the underworld’s cycle of reincarnation. After enduring three lifetimes as devoted beings, they can become like ordinary people.”

The more Di Jiang explained, the colder Wen Yao felt. She sighed helplessly, “Alas, this method is as good as useless. Where would we find the Buddha? Even if we did, who’s to say he’d give it to us? Are we supposed to steal it? Who would dare steal from the Buddha?”

“Exactly, so don’t think about it—it’s beyond our capabilities.” Di Jiang chuckled quietly, then clapped her hands behind Wen Yao’s back. Two golden droplets in her palm caught the eye, their origin unknown.

The droplets flew out with her clap, landing on the ground where they immediately took root and sprouted.

“Let’s go. This matter is settled for now. As for the rest, it depends on their own karma.” Di Jiang stretched lazily and left with Wen Yao.

Wen Yao glanced back absentmindedly and saw two tender green shoots emerging from the ashes.

“Weeds are weeds—they really do have an indomitable life force,” she remarked, paying no further attention as she turned and left.

Di Jiang smiled faintly and nodded. “Yes, that’s why they say, ‘Wildfires cannot consume them; spring breezes bring them back to life.’“

The two walked along the ten-mile stretch of ashes—one humming a tune, smiling, the other trailing behind, sighing and sulking, clearly still immersed in the eight sufferings of life: birth, aging, sickness, death, separation from loved ones, enduring resentment, unfulfilled desires, and attachments.

Di Jiang pretended not to notice, and Wen Yao complained all the way, accusing her of being cold-hearted.

But was Di Jiang truly cold-hearted? She simply didn’t want to say too much to Wen Yao, hoping instead that Wen Yao would grow strong on her own.

She needed to witness these things to develop a strong enough heart.

Only after becoming strong could compassion truly blossom, enabling one to help others and oneself. Otherwise, regret and helplessness would remain, accomplishing nothing.