Translation by Shaoyan Hu
About the author
Han Zhi is a computer science student at Zhejiang University and has a passion for creating historical science fiction and fantasy. He has won numerous awards, including the “Spark Cup” Short Story Award, the “Niangziguanhuai Cup” Short Science Fiction Award at Yangquan’s First Liu Cixin Hometown Science Fiction Week, and the Zero-Gravity Science Fiction Award.
About the translator
Shaoyan Hu is a writer and translator for speculative fictions based in Singapore. His writings have appeared in several Chinese magazines and anthologies. He has translated a few English novels into Chinese, including A Song of Ice and Fire series and The Southern Reach Trilogy. He is also a blog contributor for the official website of Amazing Stories Magazine.
Word count: ~10100 | Est. read time: 53 mins
Main text:
Su Mobei hurried through the dark palace corridor, tightly clutching the jade pendant that symbolised his role as a Wolf Walker. The musty scent of decaying phoenix wood wafted up as the floorboards creaked under his feet with each step. The servant leading the way hunched his back while walking swiftly, the lamp he held casting ghostly shadows of the gnarled trees in the courtyard. Suddenly, a piercing cry erupted from above, sending a shudder through Su Mobei’s spine. He looked up to see a flock of jackdaws taking flight from the rooftop, disappearing into the moonless night sky above the palace.
The two walked in silence as they passed through one door after another, while Su Mobei fought to suppress his wandering thoughts and focus on the wavering shadows. The Wolf Walker Garrison was a secret agency directly under the command of the Celestials, serving as their watchful eye over the people. Su Mobei, an ordinary lieutenant of the Wolf Walkers, was summoned to the Silver-Helmed Lord’s residence in the dead of night—a sign that surely boded ill. Instinctively, his hand reached for the sabre at his waist, but the blue sharkskin sheath was empty. His curved blade, String Willow, had been surrendered at the palace gates for security reasons, leaving him with only a hollow sense of uneasiness.
The door at the end of the corridor creaked open, revealing low-burning tree-shaped bronze palatial candles. The faint light from the candles barely cut through the dimness at the corner of the hall. In front of the hall, a towering figure sat in the central seat, with the candlelight casting an even larger shadow behind him. A silver helmet resembling a dragon’s head obscured the man’s face, with three pairs of misshapen, forked horns jutting skyward. He wore a long robe that was of deep crimson-purple, the wide sleeves embroidered with golden patterns of soaring dragons and astral elements. An antique zither set on a low desk in front of him boasted a glossy body that exuded dark golden hues. Kneeling on the steps before the central seat was a servant in blue robe, with another zither laid out in front of him.
Su Mobei clasped his hands in a military salute and bowed deeply, uttering in a low voice, “Su Mobei, Lieutenant of the Sixth Division of the Wolf Walker Garrison, pays his respects to the Silver-Helmed Lord, General of the Southern Realm!”
The general in the central seat remained silent, while the servant beside him nodded and gently stroked the zither, plucking out a desolate tune that echoed through the house beams.
The general finally stirred, extending a hand from beneath his wide sleeve to rest on the zither before him. He too began to play a tune, seemingly in response to that of the servant. In the shadowy candlelight, what extended from his sleeve resembled not so much a human hand, but rather a cluster of twisted tree roots, bound together into the shape of a hand and covered by a mercury-like sheen.
The servant nodded respectfully and was about to play again when Su Mobei interrupted him: “There is no need to translate for me. Hand me the zither—I understand the musical lexicon of the Celestials.”
The servant stopped playing, frowning as he scrutinised Su Mobei. He then glanced at the general and plucked a few notes on the strings, as if seeking the general’s opinion. It was only when the general lightly strummed his zither again that the servant reluctantly stood, placed the zither in front of Su Mobei, bowed, and backed out of the hall.
Su Mobei gently stroked the zither strings, conveying through the melody, “May I humbly ask for the reason why general has summoned me to the palace?”
The general’s hand that resembled mercury-coated tree roots played a steady and concise tune on the strings: “The Wolf Walker Garrison will entrust you with a crucial task.”
“Which is…?”
“A Celestial has fallen, ” the general played, “presumably by the hand of an assassin of the White Way. “
Su Mobei gasped sharply. “When did this happen?”
“The Internal Administration Office had just received the report,” the general said, his music unfluctuating and grim. “The Minister of Revenue and Marquis of Huai’an, the Veiled Lord, was found dead in his residence in the Celestial Capital. The cocoon of rebirth within his body was pierced by a sharp weapon, his corpse already turned silver. Ordinary weapons cannot kill a Celestial; only the ‘Silver Severer’ carried by White Way members can wound our kind. For over fifty years since the Celestials took over the court, the White Way has operated only in southern provinces, orchestrating rebellions and stirring unrest. Yet, they have never crossed the river to head north—until tonight, when they assassinated a significant Celestial in the capital. This is the first time.”
The White Way… Su Mobei had only heard of this name in street gossips. Since the Celestials broke through borders and claimed the throne of Divine Land, the remnants of the previous dynasty could only flee into the southern mountains, while continuing to be defeated by the Celestials’ mighty army. In the end, it was said that descendants of the old imperial family retreated to the coastal areas with their remnants, and through secretive cult practices, garnered public support, and formed the “White Way,” an organisation that appears to be a religious group but is, in fact, a rebel faction. It was rumoured that only they possessed the secretly transmitted blade capable of killing the overlords.
“The White Way may already be lurking in the streets of the Celestial Capital, watching intently for an opportunity to strike. This time it was a senior official from the Ministry of Revenue; next, it could be a top military commander from the army; and after that…”
Su Mobei felt cold sweat break out on his back and quickly bowed, asking, “Does the general mean to say…”
The general ignored him, and continued to play, “Wolf Walker Su Mobei, I hereby command you to take over this investigation before the Ministry of Justice does, and use it as an opportunity to uncover the White Way’s followers within the Celestial Capital, rooting out the rebels completely.”
“Do you obey the order?”
Su Mobei bowed again, his initial unease fading, giving way to a flicker of doubt. “I accept the directive and shall fulfil the imperial charge. But… “
The general pressed down on the vibrating zither strings. In the silence that followed, it felt as if the Celestial’s eyes hidden beneath the silver helmet had opened, staring at him coldly.
The hairs on the back of Su Mobei’s neck stood on end. He lifted the Wolf Walker’s jade pendant, which bore the image of two wolves circling each other, fighting over the sun and moon. “There is a rule within the Garrison, that every mission assigned to Wolf Walkers must be carried out by two in partnership. Together, they would receive orders and carry out the investigation. However, when I came to the palace to receive the mission this time, I was the only one present. May I ask, General, who would my partner be?”
“Your partner for this mission is a Celestial.”
Su Mobei was taken aback. “Not human…but a Celestial?”
“The Ministry of Internal Affairs has long been aware that you understand our musical language, which is why you were specifically assigned to this case. The matter is of great importance, and if it were left solely to human Wolf Walkers, the Ministry fears there could be risk of treachery.”
“But—” Su Mobei attempted to speak further, but the general struck the zither with a heavy hand, cutting him off with an unmistakable gesture of refusal.
“There’s no point in further discussion. Set out as soon as possible. By dawn when humans’ Ministry of Justice receives word, the investigation by our Ministry of Internal Affairs and the Garrison will be disrupted, and the case will be much harder to solve.”
As Su Mobei walked out of the red lacquered gate and onto the plaza before the palace, the dark sky slowly began to lighten into a shade of blue, while the dusky blue moon gradually sunk into the horizon.
A carriage stood outside the gate, the black curtains that draped over it bearing dark gold patterns that resembled the outline of a wolf. A servant lifted the curtain, revealing an interior that was divided by a thin layer of gauze, through which a vague silhouette could be seen. Su Mobei knew this was the Celestial who as the general had mentioned, would be his partner.
The carriage sped through the night toward the gates of the inner city, while they remained silent as Su Mobei scanned across the inside of the carriage. A gilded incense burner at his feet released smoke scented with sandalwood; beside it was a miniature zither, about the size of a palm, with a strap attached to the back, designed to be worn at the waist.
Su Mobei idly plucked the strings of the zither, but a much apprehension stirred within him. He had never been this close to a Celestial before. The Celestials he had served so far were always high-ranking officials or generals, seated in lofty halls of authority — distant and emotionless. But now, just behind a thin veil, sat a living, breathing Celestial right next to him. In situations like this, he ironically found himself to be at a loss for words. Should he offer a respectful greeting befitting of a servant and master, or a customary courtesy shared among peers?
Suddenly, Su Mobei heard a few sporadic zither notes. He stunned for a moment before realising something unprecedented: it was his partner that initiated the conversation first.
“Su Mobei, Lieutenant of the Sixth Division of the Wolf Walker Garrison. Did I get that right?”
For a moment, Su Mobei was unsure how to respond and instinctively plucked the strings, producing a few humble words: “Your modest servant, Su Mobei, respectfully greets Your Excellency.”
“There is no need for such formality. We’re partners in this investigation, not superior and subordinate,” the Celestial on the other side of the veil played in response. “You don’t know my name yet, do you?”
Su Mobei furrowed his brow. This Celestial seemed distinctly different from those he had interacted with before— his words bore a trace of human nature. And his name… Su Mobei had always addressed Celestials by their rank or title; it didn’t occur to him that they would have names.
He mustered his courage and replied, “I didn’t know Celestials had names.”
“I’m not like the Celestials in the Internal Administration Office, for the ease of communication during our investigation, I should let you know how to address me.” The Celestial’s tune carried a hint of humour. “You can call me Yueyin, that is my name. “
Su Mobei nodded, his curiosity overtaking the awe and fear he usually felt in the presence of a Celestial. He had never expected to meet such a talkative one. He asked again, “May I inquire, Brother Yueyin, what is your official title?”
“I don’t hold any position in the human court. I’ve been living in Moon City, and only arrived in the Celestial Capital recently.”
Moon City… Su Mobei had some vague knowledge of it. It was said to be a city inhabited only by Celestials, located beyond the distant Sea of Mist—a mysterious and forbidden realm where no human had ever set foot. Only now did he realise how little he knew about the species he had been living alongside all this time.
“So…” he asked hesitantly, “Moon City, really exists?”
Yueyin plucked the string in quick succession, drawing out a rapid melody. Su Mobei didn’t understand at first, but it soon dawned on him—the Celestial seemed to be imitating human laughter with the zither strings!
“Before I came to the Celestial Capital, I too doubted whether it really existed,” Yueyin played. “As for the Moon City… perhaps you question its existence simply because you haven’t been there yet.”
“Can a human like me enter the Moon City?”
Yueyin seemed ready to continue the conversation, but the carriage slowly came to a halt, and there was a commotion outside. Su Mobei parted the curtain and looked out. From a distance, the Marquis of Huai’an’s residence loomed like a grim, giant beast under the moonlight, shrouded in an air of desolation and foreboding. A row of young servants in donned in blue uniform stood in formation before the gates, respectfully awaiting the arrival of the Wolf Walker’s carriage.
“We’ve arrived at the Marquis’ residence,” Su Mobei played through the zither. “I’ll take a quick look around first, then—”
“I’ll go with you,” Yueyin’s response sounded from the other side of the veil.
Su Mobei was surprised; he hadn’t expected Yueyin to make such a request. Celestials couldn’t speak or walk; they had to travel in sedan chairs carried by humans. He had assumed that Yueyin, like the other Celestials from the Internal Administration Office, would leave the task of investigation to him. He could only attempt to convince, “Brother Yueyin, since you can’t communicate directly or move freely, why not remain in the carriage for a moment while I scout for clues and report back to you? How does that sound?”
“We are partners after all,” Yueyin said. “Have a few of the servants carry me in so I can see the crime scene with my own eyes. As a Celestial, it is only natural that I understand my own kind better than you do.”
Su Mobei gripped String Willow tightly as he walked slowly into the hall. Yueyin was carried into the Marquis’ residence in his sedan chair by two household servants. He was dressed in the dark blue official robe of the Celestials, though the robe bore no embroidery. His face was hidden behind a veil that resembled the bridal veil of a bride on her wedding day.
Su Mobei’s mind was no longer on the case. Doubts surfaced like sediments stirred up from the depths of still water. He suddenly recalled the general’s words: relying solely on human Wolf Walkers to investigate the case might lead to treachery… Could it be that Yueyin insisted on staying by his side to keep an eye on him? A saying crossed his mind: “When one wishes to accuse, any excuse will do.” if a Celestial were personally watching over him, they’d surely find something to use against him. Su Mobei controlled his rapid breathing and tightened his grip on the hilt of the String Willow, as if the blade was his only lifeline in a desperate situation.
Household servants opened the doors to the hall, and a sharp, acrid odour immediately assaulted Su Mobei’s senses. Covering his mouth and nose, he entered the inner chamber. A silver tree grew in the centre of the room, its branches withered and leafless, and yet still reaching upward toward the rafters. The roots, like a tangle of snakes, coiled around the seating area, before splitting into vein-like branches, spreading across the floor. In the middle of the trunk, an unmistakable diamond-shaped wound had been cut, from which a pellucid, blood-like fluid flowed and pooled on the floor.
“When did you discover that the lord had been assassinated?” Su Mobei asked, turning to the trembling servant.
“To answer the honoured officer, I remember it was just after midnight last night when I heard some noises coming from the Marquis’ bedroom…” The servant replied in a shaky voice, trying to breathe as little of the room’s air as possible. “At first, I didn’t pay much attention to it, but the noise grew louder and louder. Something felt amiss, so I gathered a few stewards, and we worked up the courage to enter the room. The moment we walked in, we saw the Marquis lying there, with blood already covering the floor…”
“Were there any signs that someone from outside had broken into the residence?”
“The residence is heavily guarded. To break in without alerting the guards… I think that’s unlikely.”
Su Mobei nodded and slowly circled the hall, taking in every detail. The entire room was gloomy and worn, devoid of windows; only when the door was opened did any light filter in. The floor was covered with signs of damage by woodworms, and a rosewood Eight Immortals table was haphazardly stacked in a corner, covered in dust. None of this surprised Su Mobei. Aside from the need to maintain an appearance of nobility when facing humans, Celestials did not mind leading a solitary life privately. They neither ate nor drank, had no need for reproduction, and after retreating from their opulent palace halls, they would sit in their modest chambers without uttering a word, keeping vigil through the night until dawn.
He examined the wound on the silver tree. The cut was smooth and clean, piercing deep into the trunk. The assassin must have possessed immense strength and strong hatred to stab so deeply and so firmly, penetrating the cocoon of rebirth within the mercury-like body. The blade was about four feet long, not a popular design of this era, but slimmer and longer. It appears that this blade was not meant for stealthy assassinations in dim chambers, but rather for a lone rider to charge through enemy lines, cutting down the general amid thousands of soldiers.
For some reason, Su Mobei suddenly felt a strange sense of familiarity, as if the blade hadn’t pierce a Celestial, but rather a heavily locked door in his memory, from which all unresolved regrets and loneliness of his past gushed out. He seemed to see the assassin in the darkness, his bony hands gripping the hilt tightly. As the man raised the blade high above his head, the firelight illuminated his face. In that fleeting moment, Su Mobei felt something that he had once lost coming back into his palm, whispering to him and urging him to reach out and touch the familiar face of someone from days of yore.
“Impossible… It can’t be him.” Su Mobei shook his head forcefully. He raised his hand to pluck the zither strings, relaying what he had observed to Yueyin, but he neither dared nor wished to confide his true thoughts to the Celestial.
Yueyin remained silent for a moment before giving his opinion: “The servant didn’t lie. When a Celestial dies, they turn into a silver tree, and the tree continues to grow. Based on the current height of this tree, the Marquis of Huai’an was killed about two hours ago.”
“What do you think of the assassin?”
“I’m afraid… it wasn’t an outsider,” Yueyin played hesitantly. “Have the head steward check all servants in the residence to see if anyone left without notice tonight. Perhaps the killer was someone who had infiltrated the household.”
Upon instructions, Su Mobei then instructed the steward to quickly gather all the cooks, guards, and attendants for a headcount. In less than fifteen minutes, the steward rushed back in, visibly flustered.
“Honoured officer, Wang Er, the servant who was serving tea in the eastern side room, is nowhere to be found! Oh dear, he was here last night, but in just a few hours, he’s gone…”
Su Mobei glanced at Yueyin, ready to play the zither to inform him, but saw him nodding slightly, seemingly understanding what had happened without translation. The two followed the steward out of the courtyard, heading towards the servants’ quarters. After rounding a screen wall, the steward opened a side door. The room was empty, save for a string of wind chimes hanging from the crossbeam, jingling softly in the wind.
“Sigh, I knew Wang Er was trouble from the start,” the steward murmured. “He only joined the household two months ago, and now he’s caused such a mess…”
Su Mobei stepped into the room and looked around. That strange sense of familiarity washed over him again like morning tides crashing onto the shore. He knew someone had once lived here once, someone he was long acquainted with. In the dust accumulated on the window lattice and between the wrinkles of the floor bedding, faint traces remained, gradually cooling. But layers of faded time had carried all familiar names beyond distant mountains and seas, leaving only whispering echoes of the past.
Su Mobei bent down, the pungent scent of Celestial blood rose up, filling the small room. Once such a strong odour clung onto you, it couldn’t be shaken off simply by changing clothes.
Perhaps the scent still lingered along the path this person had taken, Su Mobei thought. If that was the case, all they needed was a dog…
He shared his thoughts with Yueyin, who agreed. “But we must act quickly,” Yueyin played in response. “If we wait until morning, the streets will be crowded with people, and the scent will be much harder to trace.”
Given the circumstances, there was no other choice. Su Mobei brought over two sleek, black hunting dogs. After they inhaled the scent of Celestial blood, the dogs barked and bolted through the gate. The group followed the dogs, weaving in and out of the alleys as they navigated the awakening city. A sliver of light appeared on the horizon, and the solemn toll of the drum tower resonated across the Celestial Capital at dawn, echoing over the dark-grey roof tiles that stretched out like rippling fish scales.
The dogs stopped at the entrance of an inn. Su Mobei turned to Yueyin, a strong premonition welling up inside him that the old acquaintance he was about to meet was someone that he would rather die than reveal this to the watcher.
“Brother Yueyin, please wait here for a minute while I head up and take a look.”
Yueyin remained silent, seemingly giving his consent. Seeing no further response from the Celestial, Su Mobei stepped towards the gate alone. Suddenly, a sharp note pierced through the morning mist, cutting into Su Mobei’s ears like a long-hidden dagger.
“The assassin—could it be someone you know?”
Su Mobei halted in his steps, as if the blood in his entire body had frozen in an instant, while a scream shrieked inside his skull. Summoning the last bit of his strength, Su Mobei shook his head, and without looking back, dragged his heavy legs through the gate.
Su Mobei gripped his long blade tightly as he ascended the steps. Countless thoughts churned in his mind, as if fate was guiding him on. Could Yueyin see through his mind, or was he playing tricks? If Yueyin really was a watcher, the accusation of ‘a Wolf Walker colluding with the White Way’ would be enough to cost him his head! At that thought, his hand gripping the blade trembled uncontrollably, and a torrent of anger billowed from deep within. To hell with it! Maybe it was better to join the White Way and be done with this!
He stopped before the last door at the end of the corridor and gave it a gentle push; it was ajar. Su Mobei grew even more uneasy as he pushed the door open and stepped inside. The room was cold and bare, with muted light filtering through a small window, casting a greyish-blue hue over the swirling dust, like the eyes of a god watching from above.
Suddenly, Su Mobei felt a chilling sense of danger at the nape of his neck as his hair standing on end! In a flash, his blade was out, slashing backward purely on instinct. The clash of metal rang out like the chime of a great bell, while an overwhelming force surged through his body. Reflexively, he twisted into a lunge, his blade tip snapping upward with the force of a Breaker’s strike, shattering the oppressive pressure!
This was a movement he had mastered since childhood, woven into his very bones and blood. Every sweat-soaked swing and slash in the past seemed to have led him to this exact moment!
The force at the tip of his blade suddenly dissipated. Su Mobei followed the momentum, spinning around and thrusting his blade straight toward his opponent’s face! But then, he froze. In the corner of the room stood a shadowy figure—with a face he knew well, but one he never expected to see again. The figure’s blade slipped from his hand and clattered to the floor, his posture open and defenceless, his face pale with shock.
“Su Mobei! Is that you? “
Su Mobei let out a long breath, as if a heavy burden had been lifted from his shoulders. Suddenly, an overwhelming fatigue washed over him, he wished that he could just close his eyes and sink into a deep sleep, not waking up until the greyish-blue moon rose into the night sky and pigeons swarmed across the low horizon.
“Bai Qi… it’s been long.” He said quietly.
Bai Qi took in Su Mobei’s Wolf Walker uniform from head to toe. Shock and anger flashed across his gaunt face. “You… have you really become the lackey of the Celestials?”
“Are you here to blame me?” Su Mobei shook his head with a bitter smile. “Ever since that night when both our families were implicated by the traitors, our assets were seized, everything was confiscated, our grandfathers were taken to the execution grounds in the same prison cart, and my life too, has hung by a thread. It was only by the shelter of an old friend that I was able to join the Wolf Walkers. Otherwise, I doubt… I would be alive today. “
He sighed and sheathed String Willow String. “I haven’t heard from you in a long time. I thought you were dead. It is only now that I realise that we have drifted apart, each serving our own masters—one as a Wolf Walker in the Place Office, the other as an assassin of White Way.”
“Don’t call me an assassin.” Bai Qi’s voice turned cold, his gaze as sharp as a blade. “I am a bloodline warrior, acting under the heavenly decree of the Emperor of the Bai family! My oath is to overthrow the Celestials who have oppressed us for decades, and reclaim the vast territories that rightfully belong to humanity!”
Su Mobei’s heart suddenly trembled as he scrutinised his old friend’s face, that was now featuring a mixture of pride and hatred surging within him like relentless waves of fire and ice. Was Bai Qi like this in his childhood? When they practiced swordplay against a wooden dummy until they were drenched in sweat, laughing and sharing chilled watermelon from the well, did he ever think that we would arrive at this day?
“I saw a Celestial’s sedan downstairs. Did he come with you?” Bai Qi asked.
Su Mobei was stunned, unsure whether he should speak. Should he share his suspicions with Bai Qi? He imagined a winding mountain path emerging from the boundless darkness—steep and windswept, yet the only way across the abyss. But whether the road led to gold or blood remained obscure. After a few moments’ hesitation, he whispered softly:
“I suspect… that Celestial is an undercover agent working for the Internal Administration Office.”
Bai Qi was silent for a brief pause, then his furrowed brow eased, as if he had grasped the unspoken meaning behind Su Mobei’s words. Their shared childhood had allowed them to instinctively understand each other.
“Nothing good ever comes from mixing with those outlanders,” he cursed. “Time is running out. If you linger too long, that Celestial will start to get suspicious. Here’s the plan: I’ll wound you with my blade, then escape through a secret passage, making enough noise to alert the Celestial outside. He’ll think you’re injured and unable to act. As for what comes next… meet me at the tavern near Drum Tower after nightfall.”
Su Mobei nodded and crouched in the corner, guiding Bai Qi’s blade to pierce his shoulder, ripping the skin until it became a gruesome mess of blood and flesh. Bursts of pain crashed over him as Su Mobei gritted his teeth and closed his eyes. In his mind, he saw the silhouette of a lonely, fierce youth twirling gracefully beneath the swaying kapok trees on a long-ago summer day.
Su Mobei leaned against the wall as he made his way into the dimly lit cellar beneath the tavern. The pungent smell of mildew filled the air. In the darkness, the flickering orange flame from a single oil lamp illuminated Bai Qi’s face, where sharp features were caught in a play of light and shadow.
The two exchanged a brief nod before sitting down at a small table. Su Mobei fixed his gaze on Bai Qi’s eyes, where tiny flames flared in his pupils. Those eyes… were they any different from the day they parted years ago? Had they grown more intense, or… simply more desolate?
Bai Qi lowered his gaze, a faint, helpless smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He placed two small celadon bowls on the table, poured some cloudy wine, and passed one to Su Mobei. Then, raising his own bowl high above his head, he downed it in one gulp, as if marking the end of a long farewell.
“To my old friend,” Bai Qi said with a soft smile, a hint of pink tinting his cheeks.
Su Mobei swirled the cloudy wine in his bowl and couldn’t help but ask, “How did you get through all these years?”
“Me? On the night the imperial court came to seize our property, my mother and I disguised ourselves and fled the capital. We boarded a merchant boat, crossed the river, and made our way south. But soon, all our money was spent, and my mother caught a fever. She passed away halfway through the journey. I still remember her being frail like a withered branch, her eyes becoming so sunken it was frightening. Yet, with her last bit of strength, she used a handkerchief to wipe my face, comforting me, ‘Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t worry about me, just keep going on your own… you’ll be fine.'”
Bai Qi spoke in a low voice, his tone unusually calm, with neither joy nor sorrow. His eyes were like a deep, dry well, devoid of even the slightest glimmer of light.
“As for what happened after, you could probably guess them even without my explanation. I was taken in by the honourable people of the White Way. They saw my skills in riding and archery, along with my upbringing in a noble household, and invited me to join their ranks.” Bai Qi poured himself another bowl of wine, his gaze shifting to Su Mobei. “And you? I assume that… if you were thriving among the Wolf Walkers, you wouldn’t have come to meet me tonight, would you?”
Sensing that the time was right, Su Mobei began to confide in his old friend, pouring out the bitterness he had kept to himself for years—the constant fear he felt working under the Celestials, and the resentment of being ordered to kill righteous men. Bai Qi listened in silence from across the table, but Su Mobei knew that the warm wine had revived the bond between the two old friends.
Finally, after a moment of hesitation, Su Mobei spoke: “I hope… you can help me escape. If the Internal Administration Office really brings charges against me, I—”
“I won’t help you escape—at least, not for nothing,” Bai Qi’s voice remained calm. “What you need is a blade capable of piercing the chest of a Celestial.”
He unfastened the sword from his waist and tossed it onto the table. In the firelight, the redwood scabbard gleamed in soft, warm glow. As the blade was drawn, Su Mobei’s eyes widened—it was four feet long, with a slightly curved tip and an inky black body. It was the very sword used to kill the Marquis of Huai’an!
“This is a Silver Severer that goes by the name Starfire,” Bai Qi spoke in a low voice, but his tone resembled the menacing rumble of tigers and panthers. “Use this to kill the Celestial who is watching over you, and then we will help you escape.”
Su Mobei lifted his eyes to study Bai Qi’s face. His sharp features, like the fierce visage of a heavenly warrior, now seem unfamiliar, almost foreign. A feeling of uncertainty suddenly washed over him. He shook his head and pushed Starfire back towards Bai Qi.
“I… haven’t made up my mind yet,” he said softly, avoiding Bai Qi’s gaze. “If I do kill that Celestial… I’m afraid—”
“I understand what you mean, say no more,” Bai Qi interrupted Su Mobei, finishing the last of his wine. “I’m about to meet with some of our brothers from the Celestial Capital. Why don’t you come with me? Hear what we’re planning first, then decide for yourself—what do you think?”
Su Mobei nodded, surprised at Bai Qi’s patience with his hesitation. Bai Qi led him into the inner chamber. The small room was crowded with people, their excited and hurried breaths surging like tides. In the centre of the room stood a brass armillary sphere, with stars, the sun, and the moon gracefully suspended along its arcs. Behind it, a portrait of Bai Yin hung on the wall. The last emperor of the previous dynasty clad in robes and armour embellished with golden dragons, his commanding gaze looking down on the gathered crowd.
Bai Qi stood on the dais, his eyes sweeping across the crowd. Though he spoke softly, the dignity in his growl, like that of a fierce tiger, was impossible to be contained:
“I have gathered you, my brothers in the capital today because the blade has been drawn, and our great cause is now unfolding. The time has come to restore the Bai family’s dragon throne and reclaim humanity’s vast lands!”
The crowd below buzzed with excitement, murmurs rippling through them, followed by a gush of eager commotion.
Bai Qi turned and bowed reverently to the portrait hanging high behind him. The emperor’s sharp gaze was intense like two rising suns, staring far into the distant horizon.
“Our late Great Emperor devoted himself tirelessly to rebuilding the nation, extending his reach to the Northern Sea in the north, the Great Marsh in the south, the Deep Perils in the west, and the Endless Chasm in the east— the magnitude of his achievements are unparalleled! But alas, those Celestials descended from the heavens, broke through our gates, seized the throne of Zhong Yuan, and enslaved our people, leaving death and devastation in their wake. The world has become a blazing inferno, and the land is strewn with the bones of the fallen.”
He turned to the crowd, his pupils seeming to ignite with passion under the light of the oil lamps.
“We have been resisting the Celestials for decades now, but do any of you truly know… where they came from?”
Murmurs swept through the crowd again before someone shouted, “Are they heavenly warriors sent down by the Celestial Court?”
Bai Qi shook his head.
“They are demons born from the essence of the sun and moon!”
Bai Qi shook his head again, his gaze turning to Su Mobei, as if asking for his opinion.
“The Celestials are…” Su Mobei hesitated briefly before continuing, “they are extraterrestrial creatures from another planet.”
“Exactly,” Bai Qi nodded with satisfaction. Noticing the puzzled silence in the crowd, he stepped forward and turned the brass armillary sphere, setting the stars in motion along the zodiac.
“The universe is not a place where the sky is round and the earth is square, as some might believe. Instead, it is an unimaginably vast space with no centre and no end. The bright spots in the starlit sky are actually massive, burning fireballs. The distant ones we call stars, while the nearest one is what we know as the sun. The ground beneath our feet is just a tiny sphere of rock, orbiting one of those burning fireballs, which is why we call it a planet—or a ‘wanderer.’ Meanwhile, both the stars and the sun are referred to as fixed stars.”
He pointed to two tiny dots far apart on the rings of the armillary sphere. “If this dot represents our planet, then that one is the planet the Celestials came from. They possess powers far beyond ours—they can build ships larger than mountains and harness the forces of light and iron. That’s how they crossed billions of miles to reach our planet, marched into our capital, and took over the empire our people had built over centuries!”
Another commotion arose among the crowd; Bai Qi’s words were beyond what most people could understand. Yet Bai Qi continued with unwavering determination, his voice carrying the sonorous clang of metal against stone:
“Although the Celestials possess astonishing powers, they are neither gods nor demons—they are merely aliens who have journeyed from distant planets, just another kind of barbarian invader! Therefore… the Celestials are not invincible. Once we have mastered their ability to harness the power of light and iron, pulling them down from the dragon throne will be as simple as a flick of the wrist!”
“Can we really master it?” someone shouted from crowd.
Bai Qi smiled as he slowly drew his blade from the scabbard at his waist, showcasing it to everyone under the light. Starfire was completely black, like a piece of charred coal, not reflecting even the faintest glimmer.
“Remember the great ships of the Celestials? This sword, ‘Starfire,’ casted from the meteoric iron found on those ships, is capable of slaying the Celestials! Legend has it that these ships hold the knowledge that enabled the Celestials to sail across oceans and dominate nations. If we can take control of the ships, we will be able to harness their power!”
“And I have already discovered the location of that ship.” He swept his gaze across the crowd again, his eyes as commanding as the emperor’s portrait behind him. “It lies in the legendary Moon City!”
“Moon City!” The familiar name struck a chord deep within Su Mobei. That elusive dwelling of the Celestials, almost lost in myth, suddenly felt so real and tangible. He couldn’t help but ask:
“Moon City… where exactly is it?”
Bai Qi didn’t answer. Instead, he refilled the celadon bowl with cold wine and raised it above his head, as if seeking the favour of some unknown deity.
“Fellow warriors, this time I have led the brothers of White Way up north, leaving behind the strong foundations we built over decades in Ling Nan, all the way to the Celestial Capital, because we have finally found the location of the Moon City!” he shouted. “It is right here, within the Celestial Capital!”
The crowd boiled over—Moon City! The long-sought lair of the Celestials, for which the White Way had been searching for so many years, was right here, within the Celestial Capital? Voices filled with doubt and excitement intertwined in a cacophony, but Bai Qi remained unfazed. He simply raised his hand, signalling for silence.
“We have waited for fifty years. Humanity has waited for fifty years. The people of the world have waited for fifty years. We can’t wait any longer!” Bai Qi growled, every word ringing like clashing swords. “On the eighth day of the ninth lunar month, we shall break into the Moon City and kill the Celestials!”
Amidst the roaring cheers that surged like waves, Bai Qi stuck the black blade of Starfire into his own wrist. Blood trickled down, mixing with the cold wine in the bowl. The firelight danced along the tip of the blade, glowing as brightly as blood.
He raised the bowl, splashed some wine into the flames, and downed the rest. Blood-stained wine dripped from the corners of his mouth, gleaming in the firelight.
“Today, I, Bai Qi, together with my brothers, seal this blood pact!” he cried, his voice ringing out like metal, each word sharp and clear. “Henceforth, in life we shall stand together, and in death we shall rest side by side! Should we succeed in our great endeavour, no one shall enjoy wealth and power alone; if others fall…”
His gaze slowly turned towards Su Mobei, and deep within his eyes burned a spark of mocking contempt. He flung the blood wine from the bowl at Su Mobei’s feet. Su Mobei felt his blood gradually turn cold, freezing his tendons and bones, and with each breath, an icy chill spread through him.
He realised this was a trap, and that he was now surrounded by dangerous predators, with nothing ahead but a brutal fate. Friendship and shared passion had led him into this snare, but the friend who had once walked beside him now stood high on the platform, smiling coldly.
He had heard everything about the White Way—their plans, schemes, zeal, and oaths. He knew there was no turning back for him now.
Bai Qi staggered down from the dais and shoved Starfire into Su Mobei’s arms. In the flickering lamplight, his teeth appeared as if they were drenched in blood.
“Kill the Celestial.” he said with a smile.
Lumbering with heavy steps, Su Mobei lifted the carriage curtain. Before he could even enter, he heard Yueyin’s music:
“Is your injury any better?”
Su Mobei froze for a second, then remembered the wound he had intentionally inflicted on himself to deceive the Celestial. He quickly responded, though his fingers trembled uncontrollably at the strings. Starfire hung at his waist, just a thin curtain away from the Celestial he was about to kill.
“I know…” Yueyin’s playing faltered for a moment. “I know you suspect me, that you think I was sent by the Internal Administration Office to watch over you, didn’t you?”
Su Mobei remained silent, unsure of how to respond. With each note Yueyin played, it felt as if he were drawing out Su Mobei’s flickering thoughts and laying them bare. Su Mobei even began to wonder if this Celestial possessed some secret art of mind-reading.
“Brother Yueyin, I…” He could no longer contain the heavy, suffocating weight in his chest and had to speak, or at least find out what kind of creature this Celestial truly is before killing him.
“I feel that you’re different from the other Celestials in the Internal Administration Office… Those lords and generals neither understand nor care about humans; they treat us like mere tools. But of all the Celestials I’ve met, you’re the only one… who always seem to know what I’m thinking.”
“You’re more like a human than they are.”
“Because I am the next generation,” Yueyin continued playing, “to be precise, I am already the fourth generation of Celestials.”
“The fourth generation? “
“You weren’t supposed to know this, but… if it will ease your doubts about me, I’d rather tell you. Our special ability as Celestials is to imitate and learn from the intelligent beings we interact with most frequently. Here, that means humans.”
“Our imitation evolves in generational cycles. The first generation of ‘Celestials’ were as mindless as wood or stone. But as interactions increase, our bodies became like mirrors, reflecting the nature of humanity. The Celestials in the Internal Administration Office only understand human customs and social structures, but… they cannot truly understand the human mind. That’s something only a fourth-generation Celestial like me can achieve.”
“So, what you’re saying is…” Su Mobei struggled to process everything he had just heard, “one day, you might become just like humans, with minds and bodies similar to ours. Is that right?”
“At the very least, we hope for that day to come. It means we wouldn’t have to stay in positions of authority, ruling as lords and officials. Instead, we can fully integrate into your society, living as neighbours alongside humans every day. That kind of life would probably be much more interesting than what we have now.”
“Aren’t you afraid of human retaliation?” Su Mobei regretted the words the moment they left his mouth. “You’ve ruled as alien lords for so many years. If you ever found yourselves living among commoners, wouldn’t you fear being killed by a White Way assassin?”
“Violence and hatred will eventually come to an end. Once the dust has settled, I have no doubt that, as the species most akin to humanity, the future we pursue is one that humans will appreciate.”
“Brother Yueyin, you still… don’t understand humans well enough.” Su Mobei shook his head. “Humans aren’t such forgiving species. There will always be some… who won’t let you off.”
“Then will you let me off?”
Su Mobei snapped his head up. On the other side of the curtain, Yueyin’s figure slowly turned, staring directly at him through the thin veil! He suddenly felt as if all the strength had drained from his body, leaving him utterly powerless. A torrent of hot blood rushed through Su Mobei’s chest, urging him to unsheathe his blade—one strike was all it would take to kill the Celestial, and then he could flee far and fast! But his hand trembled, refusing to obey the order in his heart, as though some other force was holding back his impulse.
“I’m investigating this case alongside you, not to keep watch on you. I hope… we can become friends.”
The curtain was suddenly drawn aside, and Yueyin’s face leaned in. Su Mobei turned deathly pale as he retreated backwards, unsure of what the Celestial intended to do. But Yueyin did not press forward; his hand, which resembled the roots of a mercury tree, simply held the curtain open.
Tucked behind his head scarf was a sheet of pure white rice paper, on which a large smiling face had been clumsily drawn in childish ink strokes.
Su Mobei’s tense body relaxed, and he suddenly felt the urge to laugh. A deep sense of absurdity lingered in his chest. On this battlefield, where swords clashed in skirmishes, the enemy who was supposed to sever your head instead extended a hand, speaking like a child, asking to be your friend? He loosened his grip on the hilt of his sword, laughing silently, though tears unconsciously rolled down from the corners of his eyes.
“What a pity,” he sighed deeply. “I’m not worthy of your friendship.”
He lifted the carriage curtain and stepped out. Sunset at the Celestial Capital had already cast its glow on the southern mountains.
Su Mobei stumbled through the alley, the weight of Starfire pulling down on him like a massive burden, forcing him to bend over. He hadn’t killed Yueyin, and the White Way certainly wouldn’t spare him for it, but what else could he have done? That crude smiling face on the paper seemed like a sign of some fateful prophecy, now seared into his mind.
He didn’t want to kill him—drawing his blade was never an option from the start.
Overhead, a flock of birds flapped their wings as Su Mobei stood still, gazing upward, feeling lost. Under the crimson-gold evening sky of the Celestial Capital, jackdaws soared from rooftops that stretched out like ocean waves, flying northward. Beyond the layered mountains stood a forest of kapok trees, their flowers as scarlet as those in his childhood. Whenever the evening breeze swept through, the kapok flowers would sway like burning flames, before scattering into the wind.
The next second, he heard the faint sound of a blade being unsheathed, masked by the flapping of the jackdaws. But he did not draw his own sword; he simply stood still, quietly waiting for the moment to arrive. He felt exhausted—from the Wolf Walker Garrison to the White Way, from Starfire to Celestials; all these felt like a long, endless dream. He wished he could wake up as that carefree boy again, lying beneath the fiery red kapok trees, blowing pigeon whistle, and watching the flock take flight from the eaves and vanish into the azure sky.
Then, he caught the metallic scent of iron piercing through flesh. His vision began to blur, and the taste of blood filled his mouth. He strained with much effort to turn around, and in his fading sight, he saw Bai Qi standing behind him, the sunset casting over his gaunt face, making him appear to be the most brutal demon warrior.
At first, all he saw was impenetrable darkness, until he gradually saw shadows as enormous translucent objects began to emerge, slowly shifting in the void. He reached out, desperately trying to touch them, but upon his touch, the shapes would burst into flames, with glowing embers falling to the ground like tiny stars.
Su Mobei opened his eyes and woke up.
He was lying on a cold stone bed, and above him stretched a night sky as dark and silent as an abyss. A crescent moon, pale and blue, sat aloft in the sky, its light spilling over the land, seemingly draping everything in frost.
Su Mobei rose and looked around. The familiar tiled rooftops of the Celestial Capital were gone, replaced by countless silver towers looming in the darkness, resembling a dense forest of needles pointing towards the night sky. These towers showed no signs of brickwork; instead, they seemed to be part of a vast living organism, growing freely toward the heavens.
“Welcome to the Moon City.”
Su Mobei spun around instantly and saw Yueyin quietly watching him from not far behind.
“Moon City…” Su Mobei whispered this name, raising his head again to look at the night sky. “But where is this Moon City, exactly?”
“The Celestial Capital and the Moon City are one and the same; it’s just that you humans can’t see it.” Yueyin said, gesturing with his hand. “The towering spires of the Moon City have always stood beside the sprawling rooftops of the Celestial Capital. Since the Capital’s founding, humans have been implanted with a psychological suggestion that blinds them to things around them. Because… we must protect our cocoons. New generations of Celestials are born from these cocoons in the Moon City, that’s how we nurture our kind. “
Su Mobei looked at the towers and asked, “Are these towers the cocoons of Celestials?”
Yueyin nodded.
“Then how did I… end up here? Did you save me?”
Yueyin nodded again. “When I found you in the alley, you weren’t completely gone, but your life was hanging by a thread. Only here in the Moon City do we have the means to save you.”
Su Mobei touched his chest where Bai Qi’s blade had pierced through, finding only a long scar. He sighed and turned to Yueyin:
“Thank you for saving me. I shouldn’t…… have doubted you back then.”
Suddenly, Su Mobei realised something was off. Their conversation hadn’t been translated through the zither—each word seemed to appear directly in his mind, as if they were communicating purely through shared thoughts!
“You felt it too, didn’t you?” Yueyin nodded, as if satisfied with Su Mobei’s reaction. “In the Moon City, humans and Celestials can finally communicate through their thoughts. Just like the technology that hides the Moon City from humans, this too is a technique that entails interaction with the mind.”
“So, this is the power of Celestials…” Su Mobei sighed.
“No, it’s from you humans,” Yueyin shook his head. “All power and skills we Celestials possess are learned from you.”
Seeing the confusion on Su Mobei’s face, Yueyin said nothing more. He stood up and guided him up the mountain.
“So, you can actually walk,” Su Mobei remarked in surprise as he hurried to catch up. “I thought—”
“As I’ve said, we fourth-generation Celestials are more human than any celestial you’ve ever seen.”
When they reached the top of the mountain, Su Mobei was so overwhelmed by the view that his heart nearly stopped. Before him was a vast lake, its surface shimmering under the moonlight like the eye of a god. In the centre of the lake rested a ship larger than the surrounding mountains, every glowing point on its dark hull resembled a magnificent city seen from afar.
“Is this… the ship you used to travel across the starlit sky?” Su Mobei asked, stumbling over his words.
Yueyin didn’t answer. He led Su Mobei across a long bridge, heading towards the wreckage of that great ship.
The hatch was wide open, revealing a long corridor stretching into the ship. The interior was unlike anything in the Moon City or the Celestial Capital—sharp, clean lines, automated escalators, large strips of bright white lights, and walls with a peculiar texture. Su Mobei had never seen any material like that before.
One door after another opened in succession, and then the two of them stepped into a circular room. It was pitch black all around, except for a beam of light in the centre that illuminated the darkness. Standing in the light was a human girl dressed in strange clothing, smiling at the two of them.
“Greetings.” The girl turned to face Su Mobei, her voice immediately sounded in his mind. “You may call me Chang’e. I am the AI overseer of this ship, and you are the first human to set foot on this vessel in thousands of years.”
Su Mobei turned to Yueyin, bewildered. “What… what do you mean by this? I’ve heard that Celestials arrived in our world by crossing the sea of stars on a ship. But why is there a human overseer on your ship, and why is she called Chang’e?”
“Humans, you have forgotten so much.” Chang’e smiled bitterly and nodded at Yueyin. “Why don’t you explain it to him? “
“It wasn’t us who came to your world, but the other way round,” Yueyin said, his tone carrying a desolate calm. “Thousands of years ago, you arrived on our planet in your ships, driving the first generation of Celestials from their lands, and built your own civilisation. Over time, you forgot all your cultures and technologies. The knowledge you brought from your homeland gradually deteriorated, and ancient orders of society resurfaced from the depths of history, with emperors and generals once again stepping onto the stage. “
Su Mobei felt deeply disoriented. “This… this can’t be true! The ancient texts and historical records were supposed to be accurate—how could this—”
“Have you ever actually read these ancient records?” Yueyin pointed toward the sky. “Do any of them mention why this planet’s moon is blue? Why the west and north of the world are covered by oceans? Have you ever wondered—if we truly used advance technology to break through and overthrow human governments, why would we still rule the world with human rituals and systems?”
“You… you’re in this together, using the Celestials’ secret arts to deceive me…” Su Mobei protested in despair. Suddenly, countless strange images flashed through his mind: massive steel ships sailing among the stars, a planet of blue and green hues, and a distant, unknown homeland he had never seen. Eons ago, his ancestors had set sail from that very place, venturing across the myriad stars of the galaxy, and landing on the soil beneath his feet. He watched as humans built cities on the scorched land of an alien world, creating steel forests that blotted out the sky, only for them to gradually decline and decay. Ancient civilisations were buried beneath the earth, wars erased history, and crude shanties and brick walls rose from the ruins, like maggots feasting on the rotting corpse of a giant.
He looked up at Chang’e, who met his gaze calmly. “Is this… the history of us humans?”
Chang’e nodded. “You have forgotten too much. Civilisation creates history, then buries it, only choosing to worship the parts that serve your interests. But the Celestials are different—they have no history or civilisation of their own. That’s why their bodies can preserve the past within their cocoons, much like the rings of a tree.”
“Then how did the Celestials come to possess technology that even humans have forgotten?”
“It was Chang’e who taught us,” Yueyin said. “After our ancestors were driven out by humans, they scattered across the land. During our exile, our bodies and minds gradually transformed to become more like humans. When you abandoned your ancient civilisation and forgot where your ships had landed, we gathered here, at the place where this ship was stranded. It was here that Chang’e shared with us the old technologies, as well as culture, rituals, and the ways of the human heart.”
“I did this for humanity,” Chang’e said softly. “Humans are like this—entropy in a closed system will always increase. Once a civilisation takes a downturn, its decline cannot be entirely halted even if ancient technology and culture are restored. The true solution is to bring new blood into your society. Humans and Celestials will then live together peacefully under the same roof. There may be hatred and wars, but from the ashes, a new form of civilisation will rise—one that belongs to both humans and Celestials.”
Su Mobei lowered his head in anguish, barely able to look Yueyin in the eye. “Did you bring me here to seek revenge? Now that you’ve taken the throne, haven’t you thought about… slaughtering the humans who killed your ancestors?”
Yueyin walked up to Su Mobei and helped him to his feet. Before him, Su Mobei could still see that large smiling face drawn on the paper. “I once thought about revenge, but now, revenge is no longer an option. That day, when you entered the carriage holding Starfire, you wavered over whether to kill me. What you didn’t know was that I was also taking a gamble, betting on if you would draw your blade against me.”
“In the end, I was successful in my wager—you didn’t draw it. So here we are… still standing here and calling each other friends.”
Yueyin extended his hand, which resembled the gnarled roots of an ancient tree. Su Mobei hesitated for just one second before gripping it firmly. It was his first time touching a Celestial’s body; initially, it felt like cold metal, but soon a warmth began to come through, as if a tiny heart were beating within the steel—thump, thump.
“Are we… friends now?”
“Yes, we are.”
A sharp pain suddenly shot through Su Mobei’s temples as bizarre images flooded his mind. He saw the starry sky of the Moon City ripped apart by a long blade, the wound of the night sky oozing with pus. Then, several warriors in white armour stepped out from the gap, each wielding a dark long knife and a flintlock pistol, curiously looking up at the countless silver towers of the Moon City.
“It’s the warriors from White Way,” Yueyin said quietly. “I don’t know how they managed to do this… but they’ve invaded the Moon City.”
“We’re not planning to use weapons to confront or stop them,” Yueyin said, shaking his head. “What I need is for you, a human, to share the truth with them.”
Su Mobei chuckled bitterly, “To them, I’m nothing more than a lap dog of the Celestials. They won’t believe me.”
“If you can persuade a Celestial, who is of another race, why are you… hesitant to trust your fellow humans?”
Su Mobei fell silent, then looked up at Yueyin, his eyes reflecting the bright moonlight.
“If it’s for you… I’m willing to give it a try.”
Yueyin nodded; above him, the greyish-blue moon was sinking towards the west.
Translation Editor: Xuan