My grandfather had already walked onto the Cool Bridge, about ten paces ahead of me. He didn't turn his head, nor did he spare a glance for the men dancing the Maogusi on either side; he simply proceeded ahead of me with measured steps, his posture precisely that same stooped shape he held in life.

Even now, I still couldn't see my grandfather’s face, yet my heart was filled with an intense curiosity. Looking at his attire and ornamentation—how could it be the same as the Tujia Tima described by Old Chen? Could my grandfather actually have been a Tima in his lifetime? Impossible, absolutely impossible. Whether it was his clothing, the strange knife in his hand, the object bearing six bells, or the ox horn hanging from his waist, I had never seen them before, nor had I ever seen anyone invite him to officiate any kind of ritual or ceremony.

Suddenly, another person came to mind.

The moment that thought arose, it surged through me like a flood, unstoppable.

“Master Qinghe!” I shrieked, completely ignoring the fear of the men wildly dancing the Maogusi, and I bolted after the figure that so closely resembled my grandfather.

The figure walked neither fast nor slow. No matter how quickly I ran, he always remained about two zhang away. His voluminous eight-panel silk skirt completely concealed his form; I couldn't see how his feet moved at all, and the wide skirt, which nearly dragged on the ground, seemed utterly static, possessing not the slightest sense of fluttering motion.

“Master Qinghe… Master Qinghe…” I cried out hoarsely as I ran.

The Master Qinghe I called out to was deaf to my pleas, walking silently with his head bowed.

After chasing for an unknown length of time, I happened to glance through a gap created by the swaying, hip-swinging Maoren. I saw several branches laden with white peach blossoms, leaning obliquely outside the railing of the Cool Bridge.

Did this mean I had already reached the peach grove situated behind the stilt houses?

In that brief lapse of concentration, the Master Qinghe ahead of me vanished. Furthermore, the men dancing the Maogusi on both sides of the bridge dispersed as if scattered by a sudden gust of wind, disappearing without a trace.

The pillars were still those black pillars, the railings were still those black railings, the roof tiles were still those black tiles, and the bridge deck was still the white bridge deck. The path ahead showed no end in sight. Unexpectedly, I found myself standing in the center of a pavilion upon the bridge. Above me was a pagoda-style superstructure, from whose four corners four black dragons emerged, each holding a pearl emitting a brilliant white light in its mouth, their heads raised as if about to take flight.

I turned my head in confusion and found that the Cool Bridge I had just crossed had disappeared, much like the stone bridge spanning the burial mounds when we were in Anle Cave.

I couldn't articulate what I was feeling at that moment. I walked hesitantly to the edge of the broken bridge, peered down, and saw the peach grove below, a riot of blossoms and densely interwoven branches. Looking up again, I saw that the tails of the four dragons atop the superstructure were tightly intertwined, forming the roof in a manner of exquisite, heaven-wrought artistry.

Seeing this pavilion, I had a vague sense that I had encountered it somewhere before; the familiarity was profound. After thinking for a long time, I scrutinized the structure and style of the pavilion again, and instantly felt my heart was about to leap from my chest—wasn't this pavilion exactly what the Daoist Master had described as the "Wangxiang Terrace" (Homeward-Gazing Terrace)? "Once one enters the Wangxiang Terrace, the soul never returns." My grandfather had also uttered these words, which meant that after death, when the soul drifted to the Wangxiang Terrace and cast one last look at the place where one lived, the soul would truly enter the underworld and never see its hometown again.

Could it be that I wasn't dreaming now, but was actually dead? Were those ***, those men, and even Master Qinghe all spirits of the underworld? Was that Cool Bridge just the legendary "Bridge of Helplessness" (Naihe Bridge)? No, the Bridge of Helplessness in various legends didn't look like this! And where was Meng Po? Where was the Meng Po who served the soul-forgetting soup?

Damn it all, I absolutely refuse to believe I am dead. This entire experience must have been caused by something else. Was it the tears of Huā'er? Could they not only allow me to see what is normally unseen, but also steal my soul?—Bai Ri (Daylight/Nonsense)!

Just as I was about to turn back to look at the endless Cool Bridge, a great force struck me from behind, and I fell headlong toward the white-blossomed peach grove like a kite whose string had snapped.

Before I could utter a cry, I bounced several times off the peach tree branches and landed heavily on the snow-white ground. Directly overhead, in front of me, was a gutter that seemed to have no source, from which black water flowed, pungent with stench.

Wasn't this gutter identical to the one in front of the stone archway? Where did this black water come from? And why... why did it smell faintly of blood?

While completely bewildered, my body instantly stiffened, unable to move. In utter terror, I felt myself being lifted by someone, and in the blink of an eye, I was placed into that gutter flowing with black water, my face turned upward, and I began to float along its course. The moment my body touched the black water, my thoughts seemed to drain out of my body; I couldn't recall anything, not even who I was…

When my consciousness slightly recovered, I found myself inexplicably standing before the stone archway, staring blankly at its main gate. The three closed doors remained shut, but I could vaguely hear the sound of dogs barking and the faint weeping of a woman coming from inside. I listened closely; both the barking and the weeping sounded very familiar and intimate. Thinking back, wasn't that barking sound Huā'er’s voice? And that choked sobbing was the beautiful, mournful sound of Tan Pin’er…

Hearing Huā'er’s barks and Tan Pin’er’s cries, my heart suddenly eased immensely. As long as Tan Pin’er was there, as long as she was safe, I could be completely relieved. But why was she crying?

Hearing Tan Pin’er weeping inside almost heart-wrenchingly, my own tears began to fall involuntarily.

I walked up to the stone lion, gave a light leap, and landed on its head. With another jump, I easily grasped the edge of the wall, swung my legs over, and straddled the wall, preparing to jump down—but I froze, stunned by the sight before me, sitting motionlessly on the wall.

The weeping woman was indeed Tan Pin’er. Although I saw a black-and-white Tan Pin’er, I recognized her instantly.

At that moment, Tan Pin’er was holding someone very familiar in her arms. That person—it was impossible not to be familiar, because that person was me—Man Yingying!

The bandaged feet were the most obvious feature of that person. They were wrapped in strips Tan Pin’er had torn from her own clothes to help him.

Tan Pin’er didn't notice me straddling the wall, of course; she couldn't possibly notice a wandering spirit. However, while she didn't notice, Huā'er, standing nearby and whimpering softly, suddenly lifted its head. It fixed its gaze on me on the wall, barked twice, rushed to the base of the wall, braced its front paws against it, and tried in vain to climb up.

I saw tears welling up in Huā'er’s eyes. Of course, those tears appeared white to me now.

I finally understood that I was indeed dead; my soul and my physical body had completely separated. Once I grasped this fact, everything that had happened since I wiped away Huā'er’s tears became easy to explain.

A pang of sorrow hit me, and I lightly hopped down beside the wall. I reached out to stroke Huā'er’s head, but although my hand rested on its fur, I felt no contact whatsoever. Huā'er seemed to sense something, stood up, and tried to lick my face, but it passed straight through me without any obstruction. I felt no physical sensation of contact.

I walked slowly behind Tan Pin’er, attempting to touch her shoulder, but my hand passed diagonally through her shoulder and into her chest. If I were alive, my hand would have felt warm, smooth, and delicate against her skin; now, I felt nothing. Tan Pin’er’s body felt like air, or perhaps more accurately, an illusion.

Huā'er could see my spirit. Seeing me reach for Tan Pin’er’s shoulder, but Tan Pin’er remaining oblivious, Huā'er turned back, bit gently at the hem of Tan Pin’er’s trousers, and tilted its head up, seemingly trying to prompt her to stand. But Tan Pin’er ignored it, her head lowered toward the chest area of my physical body, crying with extreme, mournful sadness.

I sighed, walked slowly to the top of my own physical body, and stared intently. The eyes of the body were wide open, giving the appearance of someone who died with unresolved grievances. The character etched on the forehead, no longer the radical for 'earth' but the character for 'earth' itself, was strikingly prominent.

Huā'er tugged at Tan Pin’er’s trousers again. Tan Pin’er seemed to sense it, abruptly raising her head. Her pale face was covered in tear tracks, and her two pitch-black eyes were fixed on the spot where I stood. Her dark, small mouth moved, murmuring, "Ying... is that you?"