Chapter 23
Chapter 23
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: [Unknown]
Chapter Title: Mirror Lake Manor
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“Thank you, Granny Sha.”
Seeing Chen Shi wake up, Grandpa also breathed a sigh of relief.
That old lady set down the strange instrument in her hands and chuckled.
“Old Chen Tou, we’re all one big family here—what’s with the formalities? Without your Water-Fire Tempering Art, my soul-summoning ritual alone might not have dragged Little Ten back from the underworld. Even if it had, his corpse would’ve rotted away by now.”
Grandpa dispersed the swirling mass of water and fire hovering above his head. He turned to Chen Shi and asked,
“Little Ten, how are you feeling? Does your chest still hurt?”
Chen Shi tried to speak, but his throat was parched and raspy. No sound came out.
“He’s been dead seven days—corpse gone stone-cold. Pulling him back on the seventh day is damn good fortune already.”
Granny Sha leaned in close to Chen Shi, pried open his mouth, and peered inside. She grinned.
“Throat muscles are all slack. He can’t talk yet. Give it time—he’ll warm up, get reacquainted with his own body, and speech’ll come.”
“It’s a body, not a corpse,” Grandpa corrected her.
“No difference. No difference.”
Granny Sha’s eyes crinkled into slits as she smiled.
“Old Chen Tou, you’ve got some real skill. That Water-Fire Tempering Art has me green with envy. A technique meant for corpse-disembodiment immortals, and you waste it on Little Ten? Heh heh… I saved your grandson this time. Don’t you think you owe me that Water-Fire Tempering Art?”
Grandpa grew wary and shook his head.
“I paid good money for your help. But my days are short. If Granny Sha promises to become Little Ten’s godmother, I’ll teach you the Water-Fire Tempering Art, every last bit.”
“Become Little Ten’s godmother?”
Granny Sha’s face shifted in an instant. She glanced at Chen Shi lying on the bed and hesitated.
“Be his godmother? I’m afraid my lifespan ain’t tough enough for that… Roll the dice? Heh heh heh… Nah, I ain’t got the guts!”
Her voice cracked into a sob.
“Old Chen Tou, you’re trying to dump this hot potato before you kick the bucket? You’re scared too, ain’t ya? I wouldn’t touch this fortune with a ten-foot pole. I’d drop it and end up the villain…”
With that, her emotions broke loose. She wailed and sobbed.
Lying there on the bed, Chen Shi felt baffled. *Why’s the old lady crying? Why’d she call herself a sinner?*
Some time passed, and Chen Shi finally found his voice. He asked for water.
Granny Sha gave him a drink, then started herding them out. As she watched Grandpa load the still-immobile Chen Shi onto the wooden cart, something struck a chord. She burst into sobs again.
“Old Chen Tou, when you die, you better not take that Water-Fire Tempering Art to the grave with you!”
She wept.
“Hand it over to me—I’ll wear sackcloth and mourning bands, be your daughter for real!”
Grandpa didn’t look up.
“You become Little Ten’s godmother.”
“No dice!”
Granny Sha shut it down flat.
“Might as well haul that Water-Fire Tempering Art to your tomb. When the time comes, I’ll dig the damn thing up myself!”
The Galloping Horse Talisman began to glow and circulate. The wooden cart lurched into motion.
Blackie Pot loped ahead with light, jaunty steps. Chen Shi jostled along in the cart, his body swaying side to side as the wooden cart pulled away from Granny Sha’s village.
Chen Shi craned his neck for a look. The village was utterly unfamiliar—he’d never been here during the Moon Sacrifice Festival.
*Grandpa and Granny Sha know each other well. She called me Little Ten—knows my baby name.*
Chen Shi blinked. He must’ve come here before. He just couldn’t remember.
“Cheep! Cheep! Cheep!”
From the cart, Grandpa called to the doggy. Blackie Pot turned, eyed the cart puzzledly as it veered onto another path, then bounded over happily.
“We’re not heading to Huangpo Village. Somewhere else.”
Grandpa told the doggy,
“Little Ten’s body’s too chilled—blood ain’t flowing right. Gotta take him to a prime yin corpse-nurturing ground, let him soak two days.”
Blackie Pot nodded gravely, then dashed ahead to lead.
Chen Shi’s voice came faint. He forced volume into it.
“Blackie Pot, thank you.”
The doggy froze a beat, then wagged its tail.
“This is Gangzi Village, north o’ the mountains. Granny Sha’s good people. Year you were born, she came hold you, checked your bones—said your foundation was freakishly good. Later, county exams—top spot over fifty provinces—she came celebrate. When you died…”
Grandpa muttered, like to himself or to Chen Shi.
“After you got hurt, she was pissed. Ran ragged for you, every trick in the book to call your soul back. If I go, I’ll leave you a Water-Fire Tempering Art manual. Deliver it to her—repay the debt.”
He paused.
“She’s loyal to a fault. Give her that art, she’ll never forget the favor—bend over backward to square it. Won’t take godmother gig, but she’ll guard you with her life.”
Chen Shi lay listening to the wheels rumble. He whispered,
“Grandpa won’t die.”
“Heh.”
Grandpa chuckled, ruffled his hair.
“Silly kid. Nobody lives forever. Can’t stick around—moon rises, hunger hits, I might not hold back…”
He went quiet.
Chen Shi switched tracks fast.
“Grandpa, Blackie Pot a normal dog? How’d it get to the underworld and save me?”
“You suspect it too?”
Grandpa’s eyes fixed on Blackie Pot. His face darkened.
“Been suspecting that mutt forever. Just no proof.”
Up front, the doggy caught grandpa and grandson staring. It shivered despite itself.
Scraping by in the Chen household was brutal.
Why was his dog life one big pothole?
All he wanted was ordinary dog days.
Blackie Pot led on. The wooden cart trailed into the mountains, winding deeper along jagged paths.
Some stretches crumbled steep—even men’d struggle to climb. Yet the cart rolled up smooth as pavement.
Long haul later, they hit a scenic spot: low peaks ringing a valley, deep central pool with pristine, glassy water. Gazing down from above, it looked like an eye—clear rim, pitch-black pupil.
Beside the pool loomed an ancient manor, towering pines blotting every sunray. Inside: inky black. Took eyes a bit to adjust.
Blackie Pot sneezed nonstop. Place was frigid—had it quaking.
It halted at the gate. Didn’t go in.
Gate lintel bore two words: “Mirror Lake.”
Mirror Lake Manor.
Chen Shi sensed weirdness. No bugs in the manor. Immobile as he was, mosquitoes should’ve swarmed him by now. Not a one.
No mosquitoes, no birdsong. Dead silence. Unnervingly so.
A massive tree snagged his gaze. Trunk thick as hell, bark like inverted dragon scales. Straight as an arrow—three, five men to encircle.
Tree’s base: upright black coffin, propped against trunk.
Chen Shi rolled his eyes for better look. Second dragon-scale tree, second coffin swam into view.
Third tree. Third coffin.
Cart halted beneath a central dragon-scale tree. Its base held a small upright black coffin—not adult-sized.
Grandpa cracked it open, eased Chen Shi inside, shut the lid.
Odd—the air bit cold. But coffin-bound, warmth crept into Chen Shi’s limbs.
Heart stuttered to life. Gained strength.
Stranger still: coffin calm washed over him. Utter peace, like old home turf.
He dozed off comfy. Woke only when Grandpa reopened it.
Grandpa checked his hand: warm palm, stout heartbeat.
Chen Shi climbed out, flexed limbs. Body back to normal. Questions burned.
“Grandpa, been here before?”
“Mm.”
“Last time—in this little coffin?”
“Mm.”
“Last time like this?”
“Worse. You… took heavy wounds.”
Chen Shi pondered, tested waters.
“That child scholar win—top of fifty provinces? How long’d I sleep?”
“Yeah. Long time.” Grandpa grumbled low.
He stowed the cart, glanced over.
Chen Shi sealed the lid solemn—like tending another home. Careful not to nick it.
Grandpa and grandson boarded. Chen Shi eyed the manor’s other coffins: eight total. Seven black uprights dotted under ancient trees. No ghosts spotted. Sleepers inside?
Vague pressure pulsed from some coffins—potent. Staring amped it up!
Something huge slumbered there. Impressive.
“This corpse-nurturing ground? Me and a few… acquaintances found it.”
Grandpa worked the compass. Cart rolled outward.
“Not friends, really. Know each other, swapped words. All death-phobic—like me. Pooled to build this place. Stash meat here, no rot worries. Impatient old-timers already bunked in. But rules—no writing, but ironclad.”
He paused.
“No prying origins. No names. No blabbing outside. Max two visitors per go. Break ’em? Mob justice. Heh. They rise from coffins? Terrifying.”
Chen Shi grinned.
“No wonder doggy stayed out.”
Cart cleared manor. Blackie Pot hustled up. Nearby: fancy carriage parked.
Grandpa’s cart was humble wood. This? Wood frame, copper uprights, gold trim, pearl bling. Canopy top, four steeds ahead—even horses draped gold-silver barding.
Coachman on yoke, whip in hand.
Inside: princely figure. Snow-white robes, sword brows, starry eyes, godlike looks, regal air.
Spotted them exiting, white-robe rose graceful, stepped down.
Waist: long sword. Sheath lacquer-black, diamond weave, cinched waist-slim mid. Hilt, chape: hawksbill shell carved glossy. Flashy. Heads turned.
Sword hilt low-slung. Tall, lithe frame. Strides measured.
He quit the carriage—front steeds fossilized fast into stone horses!
Coachman morphed terracotta warrior, reins aloft like corralling.
Chen Shi gawked. White-robe reached them, bowed greeting.
Grandpa bowed back.
“Long time, Master Chen. Poise unchanged.”
“Don’t say that. Young Master Xiao’s grace outshines mine.”
Polite words traded.
Young Master Xiao’s eyes locked Chen Shi’s face. Deep stare.
“Water-Fire Tempering. Remarkable.”
Grandpa’s pupils tightened.
Chen Shi’s skin crawled—like prey to wounded leopard. *Grandpa’s kill-lust again? Why?*
Young Master Xiao felt the intent. No more chat.
“My rudeness.” Off he strode—to manor.
Chen Shi peeked back. Young Master Xiao at massive upright casket—like mini house. Twelve feet tall, eighteen long. Face ablaze ornate talismans—runes bedazzled eyes.
Casket lid flipped auto, soared out. Yellow-gold inner flew next. Silver gleamer. Gold dazzler. Jade slab last—standard size.
Young Master Xiao stepped in. Lids flew back layer-layer, entombed him.