Chapter 54
They say each King is born without a heart.
But when Four sees her body lying motionless on the softly fallen snow, he knows it is a lie.
Four sits in the Garden of Tongues, eyes fixed on the night sky. He presses a hand to his chest. If he presses hard enough,
he thinks he can feel a beating heart.
As he gazes at the stars, yearning for things lost, he sees the spirit trail of a dying star, its green light moving eastward.
An anomaly is about to happen in the mortal realm, he thinks.
The spirit trail descends rapidly, but it does not hold his interest—
—until another, fainter trail appears where the dying star once hung in the sky.
Four stands up now, curiosity stirring inside him as his eyes follow the second light. Barely visible, the green light flickers,
streaking in the opposite direction of the first.
Upon its death, the star had split into two.
Hell is a never-ending night.
The shadows are long and sharp when Four finally arrives at Wangyi Lake. Its silvery-gray waters are pristine; looking into them is like looking into a mirror. Except
instead of his own image, he sees strangers.
Human faces, disturbingly real in detail, drift in the water, swirling like koi in search of food. Four wonders if the faces
belong to people who have lived, or if they represent the hordes of souls that populate the kingdoms.
Or perhaps, they are the faces of the living.
Despite existing in the underworld for so long, there are so many things about his realm that he does not understand.
A hexagonal pavilion stands in the middle of the lake. Its sloped roof is ivory-tiled, its pillars made of equally fair stone. Inside, a solitary figure sits. A woman. Beyond the pavilion, the faint outline of a bridge stretches far into the horizon.
Four has never been here. None of the Kings have any real business in a place where souls begin their journey back to the
living world.
He takes a tentative step onto the lake.
A lotus flower, slightly larger than the size of his foot, springs up from under the water and meets his weight. Each step
he takes is greeted by another flower until he reaches the pavilion.
The woman inside stands and bows. Her robes are white silk, the fabric so seamless he cannot tell where it starts or ends.
White hair, almost translucent, flows down her back, loose and free. She is ageless, her face easily forgettable. But the
more Four gazes upon her, the more familiar and beautiful she becomes. Still, he knows that once he departs, he will be unable
to describe her, and he will not recall any detail of her person.
Such is the way of the Pavilion of Memories.
“Greetings, Lady Meng.” Four bows, unable to shake the feeling that she has been expecting him.
“I am pleased to see you are well, Your Majesty.” The Lady of the Pavilion waves her hand, and a stone stool appears next
to him.
“My visit will be short,” he says, taking a seat. “Every soul in Hell must go through your tea ceremony before being reborn
into the human realm. I want to know if your tea will work on a King. I want to know if drinking it will allow me to forget
and cross over.”
There is no change in Lady Meng’s expression when she replies, “Your Majesty knows my nature does not allow me to lie. Yet
you insist on asking me things a King should never need to know.”
Four tugs at the black strip of silk around his neck. It is suffocating him, always suffocating. “I did not take this crown myself. It was placed onto my head before I could even conceive of what a crown meant. Tell me, will your tea work on me?”
Lady Meng remains silent.
Four knows his questions are dangerous. There are good reasons why no King has drunk her tea or crossed the bridge. It is
said that if the underworld is even one King short, chaos will ensue.
Four places the willow branch on the table in clear view. “I intend to use this.”
“A wish?”
Four nods.
“You will bind me to it,” Lady Meng said. It was not a question.
“I am sorry, but it is necessary, and you are the only one who exists in both realms.”
Lady Meng regards him. Her milky-white irises focus, seeing nothing and everything at once.
Four gasps.
It feels like his chest is being ripped open. She digs and digs. Clawing, raking, until she finds what she is looking for.
Then she withdraws.
Four’s breaths are shaky. He feels torn apart and put back together carelessly, his insides no longer fitting.
“That was a taste of what you want,” Lady Meng tells him.
Four shivers.
“What you want can be achieved under the right circumstances,” she continues. “Certain conditions must be met when a soul
partakes in my tea ceremony. First, it requires them to forget.”
“I am willing to sacrifice anything,” he replies hoarsely.
“It would mean forgetting the reason why you are doing this. It would mean forgetting her.”
How did Lady Meng know he was doing this because of her?
She is the reason why he must do this. Why he must escape from this life of shadow. The time they had together was brief,
for she left him too early. He has existed for so, so long; an endless stretch of days and nights—but every moment with her
was a moment he felt truly alive.
He wants that feeling again. Knows he can never get it back. Even if he did become human, it would not be the same. Not without her. But he cannot forget her, he cannot forget what he did to her. And maybe . . . he wants to. Maybe it is relief he feels, now
that he knows there is a way to put his memories to rest.
“I am willing to sacrifice anything,” he says again. “I was never given a choice to be a King. Now I will make my own.”
“Very well,” said Lady Meng. “But your power and your soul are eternal and tied to this realm. If you wish to exist in the
human world, you must separate them. This cannot work without the appropriate vessels: one for your power, one for your soul.”
Four swallows, wondering if it is fortune or fate at work. Unaware that the dying star had split into two, One followed the first green light to the site of that accident, and they had asked Four to help save a baby’s life.
But Four had seen the second light, the other spirit trail of the dying star that had split into two. He chose to follow it and was
shocked to discover what—or who—was at the end of it.
As far as One is concerned, only one anomaly exists. But Four knows better. And he knows, for his plan to succeed, none of the other Kings must ever find out.
“Two anomalies occurred in the mortal realm at the same time tonight, and that is why I am here,” he tells Lady Meng. “I have
found two suitable vessels. Human ones; a boy and a girl.”
Lady Meng’s eyes widen, her hands clasping together. “Yuanfen,” she whispers. “A fateful coincidence. The universe conspires,
and so, it is inevitable.” Then, knowing what is to come, she draws a long breath and nods.
Four places a hand over the willow branch and closes his eyes. “Those who seek me shall never see me; only you alone will
know my fate and protect my secret, but to others you may never speak a word of your duty.”
In the end, the darkness is lonelier than expected.
He is tired, so tired. But he continues, following his instinct. Following that tug pulling him forward ever since he broke free.
The ragged piece of silk, once tied around his throat, is clutched in his hand. This tether to his kingdom is the only thing
that remains of his previous existence. His grip on it loosens as he walks. Already, he can feel the change inside him.
He is weak. He is cold. He is vulnerable.
He is becoming mortal.
He wonders if this is what freedom feels like, if this is what it means to live.
The bridge seems to stretch on forever. The rope burns the flesh on his palms, and the wooden planks beneath his feet feel
like mud. Should he fall, there are sharp knives below to catch him.
He was a King the last time he ventured near this space between worlds. Searching for hope. Searching for her. But he found
neither. Just a soul in the Nothing, unable to cross over.
Nikai, he remembers. The name brings comfort. But he can feel his memories slipping.
“Nikai,” he says out loud.
Another step, another tug. And the image of his friend vanishes from his mind.
He shudders. What was he thinking of? Who was he thinking of? It wasn’t her. That he knows. Her face is still clear to him.
Her voice. Her laugh.
Her touch.
But soon. Soon. He will forget.
And he does.
He walks on and the darkness grows.
Somewhere along the way, he forgets his own name.
Finally, he forgets himself.
The darkness takes him in its arms, folds him into itself. Slowly, gently. Until he can see nothing. Until he is part of it.
And it is dark. So very dark.
Darker than black.
Zizi opened his eyes.
He was covered in blood. He couldn’t tell if he was dead or alive or something else.
Astonishingly, he felt fine. But he had depleted most of his spiritual energy in creating that wretched separation spell.
He had no reason to feel fine.
He blinked, focusing on Rui.
She was looking at him in horror. No. Worse. She was looking at him like he had betrayed her.
He tried to speak, but his throat refused to work.
“Behold, the Fourth King of Hell has arrived,” said the man with the flaxen hair and red robes.
The man snapped his fingers.
Everything went silent and still. Everything except Zizi and the man.
Ten, Rui had called him. At first, Zizi thought he was a mage, but his aura was all wrong and no mage could stop time.
“What are you?” Zizi rasped, finally finding his voice.
Ten smiled. He reminded Zizi of a spider, or a snake. “Do you remember who you are?”
Zizi shook his head carefully. Based on the new memories in his head, he had a hunch. But it was so absurd he refused to accept
it.
“My dear brother,” Ten sighed, “I see you are in denial.”
“Those are not my memories.” Zizi was sure of it. “I don’t know what you did, and I don’t give a shit about what you believe
or say. I’m not your brother.”