Not too far away, Zhang Chengling stood, staring at the rising smoke and soot. Abruptly, his eyes watered, and a deep sense of melancholy inexplicably welled within him. Just then, a hand rested on his shoulder. Vision blurred, Zhang Chengling raised his head to look, only to see Zhou Zishu. Firelight was reflecting off Zhou Zishu’s eyes. Zhang Chengling didn’t know if he was speaking to him, or murmuring to himself, as he spoke with a conflicted expression, “What are you crying for? All humans will die eventually.”

Such was the jianghu. Some laughed and drank freely; the world was theirs to roam as they liked, and they came and went without leaving a trace. Others quietly reached the end of their journey in a desolate place like this one, where only a handful of strangers--each harbouring their own secrets--saw him off on his cold and bleak journey to the netherworld with nothing to say. Every day, there would be youths who were ecstatic at being a step closer to achieving their dreams; every day, there would also be someone who passed on.

Thus, the three of them stayed at the Puppet Manor. Wen Kexing found a large boulder and erected it in front of the little cell, which walls had been blackened by soot. On it, he first carved the date “The eighth day of the twelfth month of the fifty-third year[3]”, and claimed that he wanted to take his time writing, till spring came the next year.

Zhou Zishu scoffed without comment, but Zhang Chengling silently rejoiced upon hearing this--a day ago, he had still felt that this place was heavily boobytrapped, and there was no corner of it that was not sinister. Now, however, he felt that this place was like a paradise outside of the mortal world. He didn’t have to fight for his life, nor did he have to flee from people hunting him down. Every day, all he had to do was practice martial arts, space out, and suffer his shifu’s scoldings...anyway, since his shifu couldn’t really chop his head off to use it as a chamberpot, he could scold him however. One fretted less about bills the more they piled up, and one’s skin grew thicker the more he was reprimanded--this had always been the one true axiom since ancient times.

There were still a few rooms next to the cell. Some of them were guest rooms, while others looked like servants' quarters, though as they had not been lived in for many years, they had become hopelessly run-down. To demonstrate his filial piety, Zhang Chengling hurried about to clean them--although they were still unsightly, the few of them were used to sleeping rough in the wild, and made do as such.