Chapter Sixty-Nine: The Mad Flower Maiden

When I said this, the dan performer laughed and said, "Young man, you really know how to joke. Today is clearly the ninth day of the fourth lunar month—three days from now will be Marshal Liu’s thirty-ninth birthday. I couldn’t have remembered it wrong; the Lantern Festival has long passed."

Seeing how serious he was, I found myself at a loss for words. Just then, my phone suddenly rang. I hurriedly took it out and saw on the screen that it was my good friend from university, the Emperor, calling.

"Young man, what is that thing you’re holding? Some kind of Western contraption?"

I ignored the dan’s question and pressed the answer button. Immediately, the Emperor’s rough voice boomed on the other end, "Hey, Dao’er! So you’re finally alive, huh? I, your elder brother, have called you so many times and you never picked up. What’s that about? Are you looking to get chopped up or something?"

Hearing his familiar voice, I couldn’t help but grin, picturing his usual earnest yet silly demeanor: "Come on, is that how you talk to your elder brother?"

"Please, you must be itching for a beating. Are you, the little brother, planning to rebel or what?"

After we joked and chatted for a while, he asked what I’d been up to and why my phone had been off all this time. I casually brushed him off with a few excuses—after all, that guy never was the sharpest.

Then he excitedly told me he’d finally won over the department beauty. He’d planned to invite me to dinner, but my phone had been off.

I was shocked, hardly believing it. "Wang Dan really agreed to be your girlfriend?"

The Emperor was thrilled on the other end. "What do you think? With my qualifications, how could I not handle a little Wang Dan? Alright, that’s enough, Dao’er. Your big brother is busy playing with your future sister-in-law. Gotta go—happy Lantern Festival!"

Throughout the call, the dan performer watched my phone with astonishment, then asked me what kind of object it was and why there was a person’s voice coming from it.

I thought for a moment and asked if he knew what a telephone was.

He nodded and said he’d seen one in the homes of some warlords when performing there—thought it was miraculous, like something out of legend, able to transmit voices across vast distances.

I didn’t mock his ignorance—after all, his mindset was still stuck in the Republic era. I explained that this was a mobile phone, an upgraded version of the telephone he’d seen, and that the one I held was made in 2017.

No sooner had I said this than his face froze, as if suddenly struck by a thought. His pale features twitched violently. "Young man, you mustn’t joke like that. It’s clearly the fifteenth year of the Republic; how could it possibly be this 2017 you speak of?"

I smiled, then pointed at the fireworks outside. "Today is the fifteenth day of the first lunar month, 2017—the Lantern Festival. Brother, the Republic you speak of ended nearly a century ago."

"Impossible. Absolutely impossible."

Looking at him, I felt a pang of guilt, but I nonetheless recounted everything that had happened, both to him and to me. At first, he refused to believe a word, until I told him things about his past that he’d never shared with me. Finally, he began to believe what I said.

At last, I told him how he’d slipped and died here a hundred years ago, how every day since he’d relived the day of his death, endlessly trapped in this vicious cycle as a lost spirit. As I spoke, countless blood-red veins, like writhing earthworms, began creeping across his face.

I was startled, sensing something was wrong. I reached out to grab him, but a powerful surge of cold energy from him sent me stumbling back several steps.

The blood-red veins kept spreading from his face to his entire body. Wracked with pain, he clutched his head, his expression twisted in agony. His fingernails began to lengthen, their sharp, crimson points digging deep into his temples.

He looked to be in unspeakable torment, as if in that instant he recalled all he’d endured over the past century—roaming this mountain day after day, meeting countless people, experiencing endless events. Yet every morning he’d forget everything, only to repeat the same day.

Perhaps, had he never remembered, it would have been better. But now, all the agony of dying each day and the ceaseless suffering overwhelmed him in a flash. It was something I hadn’t foreseen—an entire century’s worth of pain crushing in on a person at once; even a saint would turn into a demon under its weight.

A deafening roar drowned out the sound of fireworks at the foot of the mountain. The dan performer turned on me, his eyes—once clear—now bloodshot.

I backed away, drawing talismans with my palm, chanting, "Heaven is round, earth is square; nine talismans, thunder and fire in the palm; ten thousand ghosts subdued!"

Finishing the incantation, I struck his forehead with a talisman, but he dodged with uncanny speed, and his sharp nails tore into my flesh.

He was a ghost, without a physical body, so his nails shouldn’t have been able to touch me. But the chilling energy surrounding him made it possible. The pain of that spiritual attack was worse than any physical wound.

I cried out, wrenching my arm free, blood welling from the gash. Quickly, I chanted, "Three wonders in the heavens—sun, moon, and stars. Spirits and gods, tremble! If evil spirits appear, let them be driven away. By this decree, begone!"

This was a Daoist spell I’d recently learned from the Maoshan secrets, called the Three Pure Ones’ Evil-Binding Incantation, designed specifically for malignant spirits. Right now, the dan was the most formidable of that kind—and if I didn’t subdue him tonight, he’d become a true fiend, and the consequences would be unthinkable.

Still, I wasn’t worried. Even if my spells failed, I had the Forbidden Underworld Arts and Curses; with only the two of us here, no one would witness me use them. Yet unless I was truly desperate, I’d avoid such forbidden methods.

To my surprise, the spell worked better than I’d expected. My palm struck the dan, sending him flying to the base of the old Lord Lao’s statue.

As he lay struggling, I grabbed the talismans I’d prepared earlier, chanting the incantation several times, then flung them all onto him.

As the talismans landed, they crackled and burned like firecrackers. The dan screamed in agony.

Honestly, watching him suffer like that, I felt a strange ache in my heart. I couldn’t be sure if I’d done the right thing. Perhaps I shouldn’t have shattered his tranquil existence; endless repetition, yes, but at least without pain.

In the end, I couldn’t bear to see him like this. I rushed over and peeled the talismans from his body. The blood-red veins receded beneath his skin, his nails shrank, and the red in his eyes faded away.

I finally relaxed. Though he looked weak, at least I was certain he wouldn’t go mad again.

I hurried over and asked if he was alright, apologizing and admitting my own doubts about whether I should have told him the truth.

He didn’t blame me, but gave me a faint, weak smile. "Brother, I remember everything now. We’ve met here for twenty-four days, and each time we’ve gone from strangers to friends. I’m grateful. If it were me, I’d have done the same—you did it for my own good."

I nodded, smiling. "Brother, I’ll recite the Daoist Rebirth Mantra for you, so you can move on and be reincarnated."

"Not yet!" he refused, then said, "Before I leave, I have one wish. I hope you can help me fulfill it."

I quickly agreed, "What is it? If I can do it, I’ll help you."

He smiled. "It’s nothing much. Before I’m reborn, I want to sing one final song. I’ve been preparing for so long—if I can’t perform for Marshal Liu’s friends and family, would you be my audience?"