Chapter 22

VOLUME III: Unable to Cross the River of Oblivion (END)

He stood in the Underworld, watching others—perhaps they should be called other spirits preparing for reincarnation—lining up to cross the River of Oblivion, stepping onto the Bridge of Forgetfulness, drinking Meng Po’s soup to forget all their past loves and hatreds, and then gradually entering their next reincarnation.

But he didn’t.

He hadn’t crossed the River of Oblivion, hadn’t drunk Meng Po’s soup, and couldn’t control his own body. It was as if he were merely a spectator wandering aimlessly in the Underworld.

“Forgotten souls in September, unable to cross the River of Oblivion.” After an unknown amount of time, he heard this phrase amidst the confusion. It was a low, hoarse female voice, as if reciting a spell from ancient texts—slow, yet gripping.

This phrase… he felt like he had heard it somewhere before.

He stood there, confused, but no one came to explain.

After witnessing countless rounds of spirits reincarnating, finally, a ghostly figure noticed him, and in a raspy voice said, “This one’s… time hasn’t come yet. No need to cross the River of Oblivion… Just go.”

The following parts of the text will be scrambled to prevent theft from aggregators and unauthorized epub making. Please support our translators by reading on secondlifetranslations (dot) com. If you are currently on the site and and you are seeing this, please clear your cache.

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“Gb Tld.”

Ebld Wldt Ewbld pyo Fbld Yszyd ytykd, kv oyp qkhl ulyap zyvla, kd Ckdt Fbwk Msod.

Jwv bl oyp ds zsdtla Wldt Ewbld.

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His new identity was Feng Hen, a name quite similar to his old one, and he was the only son of a small family in Qing Shui Town.

Qing Shui Town wasn’t far from the small town where Feng Wuhen had lived until he was sixteen. He suspected that his ashes had been scattered on his homeland, just as he had asked Ying Zuo and Ying You to do before his death. Perhaps that was why he had been reincarnated there.

He remembered hearing someone murmuring an incantation, which had prevented him from crossing the River of Oblivion or drinking Meng Po’s soup. When he was thrown into the cycle of reincarnation, the meaning of the phrase “unable to cross the River of Oblivion” from the symptoms of the Wang Hun Yin curse suddenly became clear.

The Bridge of Forgetfulness stood over the River of Oblivion, where Meng Po was brewing her soup of forgetfulness.

He had been reincarnated, and only five years had passed since his death. Because he hadn’t crossed the River of Oblivion, he remembered everything from his previous life—all the love and obsession he had given to one person. However, now, in this new life, the memories of his past felt like a dream, and he had finally awoken.

So this was the true meaning of the Wang Hun Yin, or the Soul-Forgotten poison.

He had left half of his soul in his reincarnation.

Qing Shui Town wasn’t particularly prosperous, but its famous peach blossom wine was renowned far and wide. Many martial artists traveled there just to buy a jar of it, and thanks to its wine, Qing Shui Town had gradually become wealthier. Currently, there were quite a few taverns in town, catering to visitors.

Feng Wuhen’s family owned a small tavern. Though it wasn’t large, it was bustling. Now 16 years old, Feng Hen had been a sickly child before his soul attached to his body. Five years earlier, he had almost died from a serious illness. When even the doctor had given up hope, he had miraculously survived, and since then, he had been healthy and full of life—a miracle in the town’s eyes.

But only Feng Wuhen knew that the boy hadn’t made it.

Now, he helped in the tavern, serving customers. Though much busier than in his previous life, he enjoyed it. During his free time, he would listen to travelers enthusiastically talk about their adventures in the martial world and feel as though he were part of it.

The martial world was still the same as ever.

What puzzled him, though, was that on the day of Chen Shaoqing’s wedding, something strange had happened. A woman from Miaojiang had crippled Chen Shaoqing’s martial arts and cut out his tongue, and yet Shen Molan hadn’t sought revenge. Instead, the two had parted ways, which caused quite a stir in the martial world. Some even hinted that it was Shen Molan who had arranged for Chen Shaoqing’s downfall.

What was even stranger was after that, Shen Molan, the famed hero known as the Black Swordsman, disappeared entirely. Chen Shaoqing’s father, heartbroken, retired from managing the family business, and his elder brother, Chen Shaoyu, took over. He did a commendable job, eventually marrying the Li family’s daughter, who was originally meant to marry Chen Shaoqing…

Thus, the once-famous martial pair, the Black Swordsman and the Autumn Leaf Wanderer, gradually faded from people’s memories. For a time, people spoke about them with interest, but over the years, they were mostly forgotten.

Feng Wuhen felt a sense of detachment, as if everything—whether it was the martial world or love and hatred—was nothing but a fleeting illusion.

“Ah Hen!”

A voice called out his name from the doorway of the Feng family’s tavern, and Feng Wuhen snapped out of his daze. When he saw who it was, he smiled.

“Oh, isn’t that Xiao Lu?”

Lu, whose given name was Li, was only a year younger than him. The boy had moved to Qing Shui Town with his family two years earlier. Though new to town, he was well-liked because of his sweet nature. After meeting Feng Wuhen, he had immediately started calling him “Ah Hen-ge” with such warmth and familiarity.

The boy ran into the tavern, excited and out of breath. “Ah Hen-ge, there’s something exciting happening! Some performers have come to town, and one of the girls is really good at spinning knives. There’s already a big crowd. Let’s go!”

Feng Wuhen rested his chin in his hand, gazing at Lu’s shining eyes. He was reminded of his younger self.

With a soft smile, he lowered his eyes. “Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go.”

Lu glanced shyly at Feng Wuhen’s smile, coughed awkwardly, and looked around. “Sure, but… what about the tavern?”

Feng Wuhen playfully tapped the boy’s forehead. “My parents are still here working. It’s not just me doing everything, so what’s the problem?”

Lu grinned, grabbed Feng Wuhen’s hand, and pulled him outside. Then, realizing what he’d done, he quickly let go.

“Come on, Ah Hen!”

Feng Wuhen glanced briefly at his wrist, where Lu had grabbed him. Then he looked at the boy’s flushed, smiling face and couldn’t help but chuckle affectionately.

This time, some girls in red were performing knife tricks in town, dazzling the crowd with their skill. Their spinning knives flashed in the sunlight, drawing applause from the growing audience, and their tip jars were filling up quickly.

Lu was mesmerized by the spectacle, eyes fixed on the spinning blades, and soon began pushing his way through the crowd to get closer. Just then, an old woman’s voice rang out.

“Someone’s stolen my coin pouch!”

“There’s a thief!”

“Watch your wallets!”

Chaos erupted in the crowd, and the red-clad girls had no choice but to stop their performance.

Feng Wuhen stood still, expecting the commotion to last for a while. But surprisingly, it wasn’t long before the culprit—a small, dirty youth—was caught and thrown in front of the old woman.

“Give her back her purse.”

The man who had caught the thief spoke in a calm, steady voice that instantly reassured everyone.

Feng Wuhen froze for a moment and lifted his gaze.

And then he saw him.

Molan.