Chapter 9 Yellow Springs Chess
The underworld has no sun or moon, only an eternal, hazy light that reflects the boundless and diverse "beings." The River of Oblivion flows silently, the Bridge of Helplessness looms indistinctly, and in most places, there is only a desolate wasteland and stagnant mist.
Li Xiang wandered alone on a desolate hill. He had been there for a long time, so long that he had almost forgotten who he was, remembering only a long, dull pain and a vague longing for his "father" and "mother". His form was as faint as smoke, a soul that remained forever in the form of a child.
Until that day, a figure staggered towards the other side of the desolate hill. The figure was much more solid than Li Xiang, appearing to be a grown man dressed in princely robes, but he was emaciated, his eyes unfocused, and a deep, shocking mark on his neck. He walked aimlessly until he was almost about to collide with Li Xiang's illusory figure, when he stopped in a daze.
Their eyes met.
Li Xiang tilted his head, a distant memory stirring within his young soul. This person… looked somewhat familiar. It seemed… many, many years ago, in a bustling palace, this person had smiled and handed him an exquisite wooden horse, calling him loudly, “Xiang’er”…
“…Uncle Wang…” Li Xiang asked uncertainly, uttering a weak breath.
The withered figure jolted, his unfocused gaze suddenly sharpening as he stared intently at Li Xiang's pale face. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out; only a strange, hoarse sound escaped his throat. His face contorted in extreme pain and disbelief. He recognized that face! It was the face he dared not look at in his midnight dreams, when he was consumed by endless regret!
“Li…Xiang…” He finally managed to squeeze out two words, his voice hoarse and broken, as if coming from the depths of purgatory. He fell to his knees with a “thud,” not to Li Xiang, but to bury his head deep into the void of “soil,” his shoulders trembling violently, emitting a suppressed, beast-like sob.
Li Xiang was startled and took a step back, somewhat at a loss. He felt no hatred, only a huge, suffocating sadness emanating from this "Uncle Wang," almost overwhelming him.
After an unknown amount of time, Li Tai's trembling gradually subsided. He raised his head, his face still wet with tears, but his eyes were clearer, revealing a desperate calm that came from letting go of all pretense and facing his sins. He looked at Li Xiang, his voice still hoarse, but with a newfound clarity: "Xiang'er... it was me... it was Uncle Wang... who harmed you."
Li Xiang blinked, seemingly trying to understand the sentence. "Ugh?" What did that mean? All he remembered was that sudden, excruciating heat, followed by a long period of darkness and this gray, gloomy place.
"I don't remember." Li Xiang honestly shook his head, his pale face showing the innocent confusion of a child. "But Uncle Wang, don't cry. This place... isn't fun. Shall we go find something else?"
Li Tai was stunned. He had envisioned countless possibilities—angry attacks, piercing accusations, eternal indifference—but he had never imagined it would be like this…pure oblivion and naive comfort. This pained him more deeply than any retribution. His sins didn't even deserve to be remembered or hated by his victims.
A deeper weariness and emptiness swept over him. He slowly stood up and looked at the soul before him, which had been forever stuck in childhood because of him, and whose pain had been worn away by time. Suddenly, he felt how ridiculous and despicable his regret and self-pity were.
“Okay…” Li Tai replied hoarsely, his voice dry, “Uncle Wang… I’ll stay with you.”
Thus, in the desolate wasteland of the underworld, a pair of peculiar "wandering spirits" appeared. One was the faint ghost of a young child, the other the taciturn ghost of a middle-aged prince with marks from a neck strap. They rarely spoke, simply drifting aimlessly. Li Xiang would sometimes point to the indistinct shadows of other spirits that occasionally flashed in the gray mist and ask them questions, and Li Tai would answer with the fewest words possible, his gaze always following Li Xiang, filled with a sense of atonement, protectiveness, and endless sorrow.
Time lost its meaning here. They saw many souls come and go, some in a daze, some lucid, some taken away by ghost messengers, and some lingering for a long time. They had seen the magnificent yet desolate city of Fengdu in the distance, and they had also seen the faintly visible, fiery red spider lilies blooming on the opposite bank of the River of Oblivion.
Until one day, an unusual, majestic yet weary fluctuation of spirits emanated from the depths of the underworld. The fluctuation was so powerful that many dazed spirits were temporarily awakened and looked toward its source.
Li Tai and Li Xiang also sensed it. Li Tai shuddered, a complex expression flashing in his eyes. Li Xiang, on the other hand, felt a strange sense of intimacy and attraction.
They drifted toward the direction from which the fluctuations originated. In a more spacious "domain," seemingly prepared specifically for special souls, they spotted a figure.
The man was dressed in imperial robes, tall and imposing, his face dignified and serene, though a lingering weariness and a hint of... the relief of finally being relieved of a heavy burden remained between his brows. He stood with his hands behind his back, scrutinizing this eternal grayness, as if assessing a new area in need of governance.
"Father!" Li Xiang exclaimed (though it was only a faint whisper), and a faint shadow fluttered over and circled around him.
Li Chengqian lowered his head and saw Li Xiang. At that moment, the icy dam in the eyes of this emperor, known for his iron-fisted rule in life, crumbled instantly, revealing the immense pain and tenderness hidden deep within him as a father. He crouched down (in the form of a spirit), trying to touch Li Xiang, but his fingers passed right through the faint, ethereal image.
“Xiang’er…” Li Chengqian’s voice was hoarse and trembling with disbelief, “It’s Father… Father has come.”
Li Xiang happily floated around him, seemingly not fully understanding the meaning of "here," but simply instinctively feeling close.
Only then did Li Chengqian notice the figure standing quietly not far away, with marks from the neck strap and a ashen face—Li Tai. The eyes of the two brothers collided in the air, separated by long years, life and death, sin and forgiveness (perhaps never truly forgiven).
There was no intense conflict as expected. The deathly silence of the underworld and the emptiness of time seemed to have already smoothed out all intense emotions, leaving only the most essential cause and effect and existence.
Li Chengqian slowly stood up, shifting his gaze from Li Xiang to Li Tai, staring at him for a long time. In the end, he only sighed almost inaudibly, saying nothing. In that sigh, there was pain, hatred, helplessness, and perhaps... also a trace of pity for the cruel twist of fate and the fact that his brothers had all turned to dust, a pity that even he himself might not admit.
Under Li Chengqian's gaze, Li Tai slowly lowered his head, his posture one of complete submission and confession. He didn't even have the courage to call him "brother" again.
The three souls "reunited" on the banks of the Yellow Springs in this strange way.
They still rarely spoke. Li Chengqian seemed to adapt quickly to the way the underworld existed; he still possessed the aura of a controller and began to subconsciously observe the "rules" and "order" of the underworld. Li Xiang was the "happiest" one; he had "Father" and "Uncle" who silently followed behind him. Although it was a gloomy and unpleasant place, he was no longer alone.
Li Tai remained a silent shadow, following not far behind Li Xiang and Li Chengqian, maintaining a humble distance. In this way, he fulfilled his imagined duty of protection and atonement.
Sometimes, they would gather somewhere in the wilderness, and Li Chengqian would wave his hand, using his soul power to conjure some blurry lights and shadows. Within those lights and shadows were the outline of Chang'an, the phantom of the Taiji Palace, and fragments of the Tang Dynasty's landscape from his memories. Pointing to those lights and shadows, he would tell the bewildered Li Xiang, "Look, this is the place ruled by your father and your uncle (referring to Li Zhi)... Later, it was your younger brother Hong'er... They did very well, even better than your father had imagined..."
As the light and shadow shift, a more prosperous and orderly picture of a golden age emerges, where aristocratic families have completely declined, talented individuals from humble backgrounds are emerging, imperial power is stable, and the world is at peace. One can also see Wu Zetian ruling from behind the curtain, carefully educating her children and grandchildren; Li Hong, benevolent and wise; and the princes each fulfilling their duties, creating a harmonious atmosphere.
Li Tai gazed at the lights and shadows from afar, listening to Li Chengqian's deep voice. Occasionally, a faint flicker of emotion would cross his lifeless eyes. Was it relief? Envy? Or perhaps deeper regret? No one knew. He saw the empire he had once tried to shake, yet which had ultimately grown ever stronger, reaching unprecedented prosperity and stability in the hands of the brother of the nephew he had murdered. This seemed like the most merciless and perfect irony and negation of all his past ambitions and schemes.
Li Xiang didn't quite understand those grand scenes. He just pointed to the occasional flashes of light and shadow, like children playing or small animals running, and made soft, joyful whispers.
On this day, the image of Zhaoling Mausoleum and the outline of Yonghui Mausoleum appeared in the light and shadow. Li Chengqian was silent for a moment, then said to Li Xiang, "Your father, your imperial grandfather, and your imperial grandmother will all be there from now on. And..." He paused, not finishing his sentence, but his gaze became somewhat distant, as if piercing through the gray mist of the underworld, looking in some unknown direction, where perhaps the last thoughts about "Penglai" and some mysterious figure remained.
Li Xiang nodded, seemingly understanding, and stretched out his thin hand, as if wanting to touch the tomb in the light and shadow. Li Tai suddenly closed his eyes, his body trembling almost imperceptibly. Zhaoling, where his father and mother were buried, and also... the evidence and guilt he could never face.
Finally, Li Chengqian dispelled the light and shadow. He looked at Li Tai and spoke to him for the first time, his voice calm and still, yet carrying a chilling aura of the underworld and a final judgment: "After Hong'er passes away, he will have his own place to go. You... stay here and watch over Xiang'er. This is what you owe him, and it's the only thing you can still do."
Li Tai bowed deeply, speechless and unable to object.
Li Chengqian looked at Li Xiang again, his cold gaze softening slightly. He tried to force a smile, but it came out stiffly: "Xiang'er, Father is going to where he needs to go. You... and your Uncle Wang, stay here and take good care of yourselves."
Li Xiang seemed to sense the impending separation, his faint shadow leaning towards Li Chengqian. Though he could not touch him, it conveyed a sense of longing.
Li Chengqian took one last look at the chaotic world, at the faint soul of his young son, and at the ghost of his younger brother, forever kneeling on the ground, bearing the marks of sin. Then, he turned and walked step by step into the depths of the gray mist, towards the direction from which a majestic call faintly emanated. His back remained upright, yet he had finally merged completely into this eternal netherworld.
On the wasteland, only Li Tai and Li Xiang remained.
Li Tai remained kneeling there for a long, long time. Li Xiang floated to his side and gently touched his shoulder with his thin hand (though he had passed through the shadows), his voice weak: "Uncle, Father is gone. Shall we... still go see the flowers?"
Li Tai slowly raised his head, looking into Li Xiang's pure eyes, eyes that reflected no sin or pain. A faint, almost imperceptible sense of relief suddenly swept through his lifeless heart. He nodded, his voice hoarse yet clearer:
"Okay. Uncle Wang... take Xiang'er to see the flowers."
He stood up, still maintaining a respectful posture, and followed behind Li Xiang's faint shadow, slowly drifting towards the other side of the River of Oblivion, towards that eternally burning yet cold sea of red spider lilies.
The road to the underworld is long, and souls wander in pairs. A karmic debt, in this way, slowly sinks into the endless netherworld, seemingly finding a quiet, atoning place. Meanwhile, the Tang Dynasty in the mortal world, under the guidance of Li Hong and his successors, is bathed in new sunlight, sailing deeper into history, no longer connected to the darkness and desolation of the underworld.
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