Ninth Lie

2. Book of Life and Death

In a blinding flash of light, instead of the desolate Moon Palace, we now stand among a crowd of bustling mortals, or rather, souls. Some linger and look around expectantly, waiting for their loved one. Others, eager to return to another cycle of life, rush through the crowd, their ghostly forms cutting through our bodies.

Or rather, we pass through them. Here, in the Road of the Yellow Spring, we are no more than projections of our material selves. There are no old, no weak, no diseased. Everyone looks as he or she wishes, after all, in the face of death, we are all but equal. Even the immortal will one day be confronted with death; I of all people, know this very well.

Behind me, a vague outline of my nine tails brightens the underworld. I am no longer crippled by deformity. Then again, this is all an illusion I remind myself. My true body is still in the upper realms. Here, I am just another lost soul. What a cruel joke the heavens have played on me. Only in the world of the dead am I no longer detested as a malformation.

The silence beside me makes me question whether the God of Marriage is still here. In the shadows of the underworld, he looks all the more wretched, gazing into the horizon. If it wasn't for him trying to force my red string with that of a bull demon, I would have never needed to flee the heavens. Perhaps I should thank him; If I hadn't sought refuge with the mortals, I would have never met him... And I wouldn't have...

Suddenly, he begins to walk away, as if in a trance, soon disappearing into a sea of souls. I chase after him. Without him, how in the three realms am I ever going to have access to the Book of Life and Death?

And then I see him, standing on the stairs of the Bridge of Helplessness and staring at an elderly woman. The words etched into her skin by thousands of years are unreadable. Bowl by bowl, she gives the passing souls a drink, the Soup of Forget. Some drink it in a gulp, eager to forget the miseries of the world. Others weep before giving in, finally relinquishing their memories to advance to another life. The liquid in her bowl mirrors that of the river coursing from beneath us, clear yet brimming with emotion.

"Let's go," I say to him. But his eyes remain on the elderly woman. "Please, you had always wanted me to beg for your help, I beg you now, help me." He remains silent, transfixed. Closing his eyes, he seemed to be lost in a world of memories, and so I pull him away.

"My Master," I grimace as I say that abominable word in reference to him, "needs check the records for a married couple. There has been a few discrepancies in his work." The guards, though suspicious, allow us in without a single word. After all, no spirit would question a god, especially one that has recently gained the favor the Heaven Mother.

A bright contrast to the dreary world outside, the Hall of Records is brightly lit with countless night pearls that emit jewel-toned glows. So I dig into the bamboo-bound scripts, hoping to find the book that belongs to him.

Row by row, I search. Book by book, I fail. If only I had my powers.

When I finally find the book labeled DiXin, I wish that I have never found it. How can I hope to find you again in your next life, if you had never once died?

How can I love you for all my life, if I am soon sentenced to die. And you now immortal?