Chapter 332
Chapter 332
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Translator: Ace
Chapter:
Chapter Title: Endless Corridor of Memories
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Outside, the battle raged, turning heaven and earth upside down, yet inside Yuan Chen Palace, all was peaceful and serene, with not a sound from beyond its walls.
Yuan Chen Palace was spotlessly clean and orderly, as though someone tended to it regularly.
It was the dead of night now, the hour when the Three Corpse Gods emerged. Chen Shi spotted his mother's Three Corpse Gods.
The Upper Corpse God Peng Ju lay sprawled on the ground, his face ashen as death, staring blankly at the sky.
The Middle Corpse God Peng Zhi leaned against a tree, eyes vacant, steeped in a heavy gloom.
The Lower Corpse God Peng Qiao lay prone on the ground, awaiting the arrival of death.
Sorrow enveloped them, rendering them motionless like stone carvings.
The palace's master was consumed by grief, dragging the Three Corpse Gods—born of her desires—into mourning as well. They could not break free from the sadness.
Chen Shi passed by these three grotesque corpse gods, but they paid him no mind.
The gateway to the divine court within Yuan Chen Palace stood open, yet they made no move to enter and urge their master to join them in revelry.
Bereft of vitality by their master's anguish, they were confined here by the ghost gods, barred from venturing out.
Chen Shi climbed the steps, his body shifting as he went.
For days he had remained in Great Night Yaksha form, only now releasing the divine transformation, reverting from yaksha back to human shape.
He feared the yaksha form would frighten his mother.
Chen Shi stepped into the divine court. From outside, it appeared a grand palace hall, but within lay an endless corridor lined with rooms on either side.
"Mother, where are you?"
Chen Shi called out loudly.
His voice echoed through the corridor, carrying into the distance, but no reply came.
Chen Shi reached the first room and pushed open the door. Soft, warm light spilled into his eyes.
The room resembled a delivery chamber. Old Lady Wuzhu served as midwife, cradling an infant with a beaming smile.
The young Chen Tang stood beside Old Lady Wuzhu, craning his neck to peer at the baby in her arms. He reached out to hold it, then hesitated, afraid his strength might harm the child.
A dozen Old Lady Wuzhus filled the room, each holding little Chen Shi in different poses, positioned variably.
Even more young Chen Tangs dotted the space—some without the baby, some cradling it, some bolder ones hoisting little Chen Shi aloft, others slyly lifting the swaddling cloth to peek at his tiny manhood.
They resembled figures of mist; a light touch saw hands pass through them as though they were air.
Their forms would dissipate upon contact, only to reform swiftly, resuming their prior stances.
Chen Shi wove between them to the bed in the bedroom. At the head sat another Chen Tang, gazing at the figure on the bed with tender, loving eyes full of gratitude.
Yet from his line of sight, the bed lay empty.
Chen Shi realized: this was the viewpoint of the woman who had just given birth upon that bed.
Exhausted from labor, she lay watching the midwife bustle about the room with her child.
She watched her husband enter cautiously—from too timid to hold the newborn, to cradling it gently, to lifting it high, then coming to her side to tend her wellbeing as husband and wife exchanged heartfelt words.
"This room holds Mother's memory of my birth."
Chen Shi thought to himself.
He exited the room and entered the one across the hall.
Cradles filled this chamber, each cradling a tiny Chen Shi of varying expressions—some bawling loudly, some sucking their thumbs, others giggling without cease. Chen Shi entered the next room. Infants lay everywhere, shitting and pissing in a chaotic, foul-smelling mess, diapers slung haphazardly about.
Chen Shi reached another room, alive with little Chen Shis crawling every which way, boisterous and wild.
He progressed along the corridor, room by room. With each deeper step, the little Chen Shis aged—from crawling everywhere, to gnawing table legs while seated, to tottering upright in first steps, to sprouting a few tiny teeth.
The Chen Shis in the rooms grew taller too: one dragging a duck by the neck into the house declaring it lunch, another scrawling on walls and floors, another rummaging through parents' clothes and belongings, another with a swollen backside from Chen Tang's spanking, hiding under the bed to weep... The doors beyond led no longer to bedrooms but outdoors.
This was the Chen family courtyard.
There, he practiced writing in the study with Chen Tang, lay on Mother's lap in the sunshine for ear-cleaning, helped Mother wind yarn balls, fled in panic from Chen Tang's switch, or returned mud-caked, one shoe in hand and fish in the other, grinning foolishly through the scolding.
Next, doors opened to scenes from Huangpo Village: Chen Shi running wild, perching on walls, climbing trees, playing games with village children, or standing in corners taking reprimands.
"These are all memories of me."
Chen Shi flung open door after door in a rush, seeking his mother's trace.
Yet the more he saw, the more puzzled he grew.
Chen Shi dominated most memories, with Chen Tang claiming a share—but nowhere did he glimpse Mother as she saw herself.
She poured her energy into Chen Shi and Chen Tang, seldom sparing thought for herself.
Thus, she was absent from these recollections.
Chen Shi pressed on, shoving open doors. The memories beyond brimmed with warmth, sweetness, familial joy; Grandpa Chen Yindu appeared too, heralding lively homecomings.
There was the sullen Chen Tang, confiding to her about being bullied by that Creation brat Little Five.
The Chen Shi in the doors grew day by day—from infant to eight or nine years old, studying alongside Chen Tang, even reading atop the yellow earth slopes beyond the village.
He grew taller still.
"Mother! I'm alive! Mother!"
Chen Shi bellowed from the corridor.
"I've come to save you! Where are you?"
His voice echoed in the vast emptiness, unanswered.
Chen Shi opened another door. The memories behind the prior ones burst with vivid color, richer than reality.
This door's memory was monochrome, bereft of hues save for one vivid red pool of blood on the ground.
A small corpse lay there too—Chen Shi's own.
This memory held no sky, no earth; darkness cloaked all around, pitch black.
Before Chen Shi's corpse knelt a woman in anguished sobs—silent, trembling, face unseen.
She seemed to call her son's name, summoning him back, her voice hoarse from shouting.
This time, Chen Shi saw his mother—but from on high, the soul's vantage, not the eyes'.
Pain.
Excruciating pain.
Pain so fierce the soul tore free from flesh, fleeing the body to hover detached, gazing down upon this bereaved mother.
The out-of-body soul yearned to return, yet the agony persisted.
Chen Shi stared at the scene, then shut the door, standing in the long corridor, nose stinging.
He steadied himself and opened the next door.
A black-and-white world lay beyond—no sky, no ground, save the small Chen Shi corpse, the grieving mother, and that slash of blood.
Chen Shi opened another: black-and-white again, the tiny corpse and kneeling mother.
Another door: the same monochrome vista, unchanged.
Door after door he flung wide, delving deeper, but every subsequent one mirrored the last, unaltered.
His mother's soul had fled her body in torment, imprinting this memory from a soul's perspective. For a long stretch after, she drowned in this agony, unable to emerge.
No sorrow in the world surpassed this.
Chen Shi lost count of the doors he opened, yet found no mother. His calls rang out, unanswered.
He dashed ahead, thrusting open door after door, but black-and-white reigned eternal, Mother elusive.
He ran like a madman, yet the path stretched interminably, as if every room replayed little Chen Shi's death. He raced on, opening new doors, each identical.
Chen Shi sprinted forward, heart burning with urgency.
Rescuing Mother this time was no sure thing!
She was held here by King Yama's scheme. From Young Master Wei Yue's tone, Yama had once captured Chen Shi with it, imprisoning and suppressing him.
This time, he had Boat Granny, the three judges, Blackie Pot, and inscription carver Du Yiran aiding—but they couldn't hold out forever!
Too many ghostly bailiffs swarmed Immortal Capital, endless waves that could wear down even a heavenly king, drown him in numbers!
Chen Shi had to extract Mother in the shortest time possible!
But how to pinpoint her amid these nigh-endless doors?
He charged ahead, flinging doors wide in a blur, shouting—but the corridor knew no end, nor did the doors. No matter how fast or far he ran, more awaited.
Chen Shi shoved open another door, glanced hastily: same scene as before.
He shut it. No time to inspect every room—he skipped over a dozen, opened one, saving precious moments.
Only when the scenes changed would he search closely.
He turned to run onward when a voice sounded from a nearby door.
"Little Ten, Mother finally found you."
Chen Shi froze, whirling toward the door. Trembling, he pushed it open.
Beyond lay an infinite sea of fire surging into view, flames dancing. Amid them towered colossal demon gods, all facing one direction.
Demonic flames roiled in the inferno, shooting skyward.
A frail woman knelt in the blaze, clutching an eight- or nine-year-old boy tightly.
"Little Ten, Mother found you."
Chen Shi stared, transfixed. A mother's soul traversing the ghost-infested underworld, brimming with man-eating fiends, crossing blade mountains and fire seas to find her child.
He remembered none of it.
No recollection of his mother's soul departing to seek him in the underworld, nor their reunion amid the flames.
He watched the scene, then quietly backed away, softly closing the door.
"Little Ten..."
A trembling voice came from behind. Chen Shi shuddered and turned.
Mother's soul stood there, staring straight at him, as if disbelieving her eyes.
"Little Ten!"
She lunged, enveloping him in a fierce embrace—just as she had clutched nine-year-old Chen Shi amid hellfire, surrounded by demons.
"Little Ten, Mother finally found you."
She choked out.
Chen Shi flung wide his arms, hugging her tight, terrified this fragile yet unbreakable soul might dissipate from excess grief.
"Mother, I've come to take you home!"