Chapter 26 Zizi
Zizi
Zizi couldn’t remember the last time he’d visited the palace, and he wasn’t looking forward to meeting with the Elder Gods.
The Kings were seldom called to Youdu, and the Elders were akin to absentee parents in the mortal realm: distant, uninterested,
never bothering to compliment or encourage. They always showed up to judge, though.
As he raised one weary leg after the other, the red moon felt as if it was glaring down, judging him too. He glowered back
at it, wishing it were stars twinkling in that black sky instead. His chest ached. Stars always reminded him of Rui.
Having walked briskly across the vast courtyard and climbed the never-ending flight of stone steps that went up the tall hill
on which the palace stood, Zizi was out of breath, irritated from being out of breath, and getting increasingly concerned
about his out-of-breathness. He hadn’t been this unfit when he was in the mortal realm. Sure, he drank too much coffee and
got by on a diet of instant noodles, but at eighteen years of age in human terms, his body was supposed to be in its prime.
He wasn’t usually the worrying sort, but he was worried now. Reality was sinking in fast: in his current mortal form, he wasn’t
a fully functional King of Hell.
That was going to be a problem.
Panting slightly, he urged himself up the last few steps. If he could have his way, the palace compound would be transformed
into something modern and physically efficient. At the very least, elevators would be installed. But walking this distance
on your own two legs and making the long climb up the stairs to the entrance of the palace was a sign of respect and devotion
to the Elder Gods. That was the problem with deities. They were always asking for utter devotion, but Zizi knew now, after
having lived as a mortal, that the gods often left prayers on read.
He followed the sound of mahjong tiles to the grand hall. As he entered, he felt a new tweak in his neck, and he cursed under his breath.
Dulcet tones floated above the sounds of the mahjong game in progress. “Language.”
The voice of the woman in the blood-red qipao was gentle, but the reprimand it carried corrected Zizi’s posture immediately.
He had forgotten how sharp her hearing was. He bowed and offered his most endearing smile. The Elder Gods had no favorites.
Didn’t mean he couldn’t try.
“My apologies, Empress-Mother.” The Kings addressed the Elders in this way, though the Elders had not birthed them. Two liked
to say it was the Divine and its will that had created the Kings for the purpose of managing the afterlife. Zizi had his doubts.
Empress-Mother kept her eyes on her game. The Elders were enigmatic, beyond anyone’s understanding, even the Kings’. They
were above the hierarchy of deities and immortals and were said to be as ancient as time itself. For some unfathomable reason,
they remained at this table, seemingly locked in an eternal game and never leaving the palace. Or rather, if they did leave,
no one ever knew.
The same way no one knew who the other two players in the empty seats were.
A throbbing pain assaulted Zizi’s head. Wincing, he took a shaky step back. He’d thought his migraines were gone for good.
Apparently not. But the pain was different this time, and the clacking of mahjong tiles seemed to exacerbate it, like a trigger
of sorts. There were flashes—images of this very room spliced together haphazardly, voices bouncing off the walls.
Chi! Thank you for discarding that fa, said a woman’s voice.
A man cursed gruffly. I will not make that mistake again.
Zizi blinked hard. The chaotic images and pain vanished as mysteriously as they had appeared. Where had they come from? Were
they his memories? There was something familiar about the voices.
The Elders didn’t seem to notice anything amiss. Zizi took a breath and addressed the man with the salt-and-pepper hair, who was currently frowning at the row of tiles in front of him. “Emperor-Father.”
“You have decided to return home,” the Elder God said. He didn’t look at Zizi either. “We have missed you dearly.”
His sarcasm did not go unnoticed. Emperor-Father was rigid and sometimes unkind. Come to think of it, he was not unlike Song
Wei, the Head of the Exorcist Guild. A stray thought entered Zizi’s mind, and he wondered how Song Yiran was doing. But this
wasn’t the time to worry about his sort-of-maybe friend who was probably zooming around in one of his fancy cars and being
snotty to sales assistants at designer shops. Zizi’s body was tired and hungry, and he wanted to return to the Fourth Court
to sleep.
“I deeply apologize for causing trouble to everyone and putting our realm in danger,” he said contritely, bringing his hand
to his chest. The beat of his mortal heart disturbed and assured him equally. “I’m back now, and all is well. Reports are
coming in that the Nothing is mostly receding. All the horrors I have suffered in the Obsidian Cavern . . .” He let his voice
fade for dramatic effect before continuing humbly, “I will accept any other punishment you deem appropriate for my misbehavior.
All I ask for is a measure of clemency, seeing that I have been punished already in more ways than one.”
“Perhaps you have,” Empress-Mother said, expressionless. There was a slight shimmer in the air above one of the empty seats.
A tile appeared on the green felt top. With a look of triumph, she swiped it off the table. “Chi.”
Emperor-Father tossed a tile from his row onto the table. “The mortal girl reborn, the cause of your repeated . . . disobedience.
She is well, I hope.”
Zizi knew a threat when he heard one. The Elder Gods were bound to different rules than the Kings, but as far as he knew, they weren’t allowed to dabble in the mortal realm either. But the thing about rules was that they were always broken.
“I don’t intend to pursue matters involving the human realm that are beyond my jurisdiction as the King of the Fourth Court,”
he said. “The matter is closed. Forever.”
“Very well.” Emperor-Father shot him a piercing stare. “It seems that your mortal vessel has not yet adapted to the fusion
of your power and soul. Regardless, you are to remain in the underworld to fulfill your duties, and you are not allowed to
leave this realm until permission is granted.”
Zizi had endured a similar retribution before as Four, and it was one he could endure again. He’d already made up his mind
to stay away from Rui for her own good. And frankly, he had expected a more severe chastisement from the Elder Gods, but maybe
they knew that not seeing Rui ever again was the greatest punishment of all.
“I shall remain here to fulfill my duties,” he agreed. “You have my word.”
“And what is your word worth?” Empress-Mother wondered.
“Enough.”
The Elder Gods exchanged glances. They didn’t seem dissatisfied with his answer. Empress-Mother picked a tile from the diagonal
stack across the table, running her thumb across the carved surface without looking at it. She smiled. Another solid pick.
Hopefully it would keep her in a good mood.
Seeing that as his cue, Zizi began to take his leave. Without warning, tremors suddenly shook every inch of his body. His
muscles spasmed erratically, and he doubled over, crumpling onto the floor like a ball of paper in a giant’s fist. He curled
up, groaning in pain. It felt like he was back in the Obsidian Cavern again. And in his hazy, slurry mind, he pictured Rui’s
face in infinite detail, the way he used to when he wanted to draw her. When he missed her. Her image sharpened, and the pain
seemed to subside. It was a placebo, nothing more than delusion, but it was the only thing that kept the darkness away.
Voices murmured from above.
It is as you thought, my dear.
. . . clinging to his humanity . . . may not survive this . . .
Perhaps, just this once, we could intervene?
What are you talking about? Zizi tried to say. And as he lost consciousness, he heard another voice, one he didn’t recognize.
He may have descended from our realm for a reason, but we cannot interfere with things that fate has set in motion. . . . He must fulfill the condition by himself.
It was the smell of freshly brewed coffee that woke him.
Zizi breathed in the life-giving scent, thinking he must’ve perished and gone to heaven. But that was impossible. For one,
he didn’t think the celestial realm existed. Even if it did, he was a King of Hell, doomed to spend his eternal existence
in the underworld, never leaving this dark and shadowy world, et cetera, et cetera.
He sighed pitifully, listening to the tranquil sound of distant waves crashing against the shore. He was in his old chambers
in the Fourth Court. The Elder Gods must have sent him back here after he’d passed out at the palace. He remembered the stranger’s
voice he’d heard.
Who was it? Had they been talking about Zizi? And what was the condition they’d mentioned? It was a borderless puzzle, and he wasn’t sure where the first piece could be found.
As he lay on his large, cozy bed under large, cozy blankets, he became aware that someone else was in the room. He rolled
over and swept aside the silk drapes hanging over his canopy bed.
A young man with peacock-blue hair and haunted eyes was sitting in the corner of the room.
Zizi longed to go back to sleep. His bed was too enticing. It was King-of-Hell-sized, bigger than the beds that humans used,
and way more comfortable. But the young man kept staring at him like a lost sheep, and Zizi finally gave in.
“What is it, Nikai? What do you want?” he said, his words muffled by a long yawn.
“Gods in all the realms, you remember me!”
His silly little Reaper friend started to cry.
Dammit. Zizi sat up. “I do remember you, Nikai,” he said gently. “I’m sorry I left you alone here for so long.”
I’m sorry I couldn’t keep my promise to save her all those years ago, he thought, recalling the circumstances under which Nikai’s soul had been sent to the Nothing.