Chapter Fifty-Three: The Pavilion of Duality

Suddenly, Fang You woke from his dream once more, but this time he found himself still in his own fortune-telling parlor. The evening breeze drifted coolly around him, and he noticed even the tightly lidded water cup before him quivered ever so slightly. A knowing smile played on Fang You’s lips.

At that moment, an aged voice echoed from the entrance of the fortune-telling parlor, and Fang You instantly understood what was about to happen. As expected, in the next heartbeat, his uncle staggered in from outside, covered in blood, his voice thick with resentment: “Why did you not save me when you knew I was going to my death? How hateful your heart must be!” With each step, his uncle left bloody footprints as he slowly approached Fang You, wailing, “What a terrible way I died!”

“Since a guest has come to call, why not reveal your true face? What harm is there in teasing me with this dreamwalking art?” As Fang You spoke, he poured a cup of tea and slid it toward his blood-soaked uncle.

The so-called “uncle” before him changed expression at these words, then burst into loud laughter. “I am Fang You, third disciple of Maoshan’s Guanshan Sect. May I ask what guidance you bring?” Fang You inquired courteously.

“It is nothing particular. I come from Tokyo, new to your land. I am an Onmyoji, what you would call a Master of Yin and Yang.” With that, his uncle shimmered and transformed into a handsome youth.

“Onmyoji?” Fang You examined the youth before him—a white-robed figure, a white cap perched atop his head, and a white fan inscribed with the characters for Yin and Yang in his hand.

“You reveal your true self and come at such a late hour—surely there is a purpose, is there not?” Fang You asked.

The young man laughed. “Sir, you are most courteous. I am Abe Qingye. I have founded an Onmyo House, dedicated to gathering practitioners of the arcane arts from all lands. Some days ago, you offended one called Xu, a powerful figure. I am in their employ and have come at their behest to warn you: there are some things best left unsaid, unheard, and undiscussed.” As he spoke, Abe Qingye gently fanned himself, his manner urbane and graceful.

“Xu the Magnate, Xu Qiang, Boss Xu?” Fang You recalled Xu Qiang’s ruthless silencing and An Wu’s betrayal, and anger flared within him. Yet faced with this fellow master of Yin and Yang, he managed to remain polite. “As for the recent tomb-robbing, I will speak of it no more. I suggest Boss Xu do more good in this life, lest he die and be boiled in oil and fire in the netherworld. Good deeds bring good karma.”

Fang You’s words were both a warning and a subtle admonition to the Onmyoji Abe Qingye: those who commit evil will surely reap its bitter fruit.

Abe Qingye nodded. “What you say is true, sir. But I have heard that the cultivators of your land all seek immortality—is it not merely to escape the punishments of the afterlife?”

There was a hidden barb in Abe Qingye’s words, implying that practitioners of Daoism cultivate their arts only to evade retribution for their earthly misdeeds.

“Daoist cultivation is rooted in self-cultivation. The pursuit of immortality and divinity is to ascend in the Dao. Or is it your meaning, sir, that your own practice of Yin and Yang is merely a way to elude disaster and punishment?”

Fang You’s retort made it clear that it was the Onmyoji himself who wished to escape the consequences of his past deeds.

“I am but a humble Onmyoji, with nothing to my name. What is there for me to evade or hide from? Every cultivator walks a different path—let us not become enemies, and I hope you will be cautious in the future.” As Abe Qingye finished speaking, a young girl appeared behind him, raising two small drums and dancing as she beat them: “Crash, crash, awaken from the dream, awaken from the dream!”

“Then, I take my leave.”

A sudden cold wind blew through. Fang You awoke from his dream to find nothing and no one before him, only a chill in the air.

“Abe Qingye,” he murmured, repeating the name to himself. “An Onmyoji from Tokyo? Onmyo House?”

His thoughts were muddled. It seemed that a visitor from Tokyo, claiming to be an Onmyoji, had come to see him, demanding he keep silent about the tomb-robbing of the warlord’s grave for Boss Xu.

Fang You was not one to seek trouble, especially after he’d already accepted thirty thousand from them. Tomb-robbing, after all, was hardly a noble act. Yet Xu the Magnate’s attempt at silencing him filled him with bitter indignation. Still, since there was little chance their paths would cross again, he decided to let it go, swallowing his resentment.

He shook his head and resigned himself to bear the grudge.

Suddenly, someone knocked at the door. Dawn had broken. Fang You went to the entrance and called, “Who is it? Another client?”

The door was flung open and someone leapt onto him, straddling his shoulders. “Fang You, little Daoist, you’re finally back! I’ve missed you so much!”

“Who—?” Fang You started in alarm.

“It’s me, Zhang Shengnan!” The figure leapt down, revealing herself as the young policewoman Zhang Shengnan, still in her uniform.

“Ah…this!” Fang You felt a tinge of awkwardness at her enthusiasm.

“Here, this is for you!” Zhang Shengnan produced a small cage from behind her, inside which was the little white fox Fang You had left in her care before heading to the tomb.

Seeing the snow-white, pure little fox, Fang You was flooded with guilt, recalling the massacre of the fox spirits in Shankou Village. He accepted the fox with a heavy heart.

“I named it Little White. Isn’t that nice? Little White, Little White!” Zhang Shengnan cooed, playing with the fox. It was clear that, over the past few days, she and Little White had grown fond of each other.

“Thank you,” Fang You blurted out.

Zhang Shengnan blinked in surprise, then smiled. “No need for thanks. After all, you risked your life for the Spirit Case Unit—well, that’s what I mean—so a little favor like this is nothing.”

At that moment, the radio crackled with Zhou Shen’s voice: “Zhang Shengnan, get to Dongjiao Lane at once! That woman is trying to sell her little brother again—go handle the situation!”

“What, again? I’m on my way!” Zhang Shengnan replied, suddenly anxious to leave.

“What’s going on?” Fang You asked.

“There’s a woman trying to sell her younger brother. It’s complicated. I have to go mediate!” With that, Zhang Shengnan hurried out, jumped into her police car, and sped away.

“Wait…I wanted to—” Fang You began, but could only watch her departing figure.

He had wanted to warn her to be careful, for her fate was entering a period of danger and calamity was drawing near. Yet he could only sigh. Destiny cannot be defied, human fate is ever fickle—disaster or misfortune comes as Heaven wills.

Cradling the little fox, Fang You returned to the parlor, released Little White from its cage, and set it beside his satchel. Then he returned to his study of the “Book of Mystical Doorways.”

Little White, bored, played on the table for a while before slipping into Fang You’s bag. Inside were a few blood-red fruits and a single blood peach left from Daoist Qiu.

Little White carried the blood peach to a corner and began to eat. Just then, a stylish young woman happened to pass by the door. Stuffed and curious, Little White burped, and in an instant transformed into the image of the woman who had just walked by—then burped again and changed back.

Meanwhile, Fang You, absorbed in his studies, noticed nothing.

Elsewhere, in a rented room, a young boy watched a girl packing her belongings.

“Sis, where are we going?” he asked.

“I’m sending you away.”