On the day of the grand wedding, the house brimmed with distinguished guests. Victor Fan glided among the tables, pouring wine with practiced ease. Yet in Victor Fan’s own home, the air was thick with seething resentment—a suffocating, spectral gloom. Wu Zheng sat silently in Victor Fan’s bedroom, the walls plastered with golden talismans, each inscribed with Daoist script in blood-red cinnabar.
"Tell me, why get so worked up over someone else’s wedding? Wouldn’t you rather confide in me? You know, women like you—mysterious and beautiful—are the ones I cherish most."
Belle lay on the table, a faint pink mist rising from her surface. Victor Wu sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by several jars of wine.
Suddenly, Victor Wu shivered violently and began to tremble, quickly taking a swig of wine.
"With such intense murderous energy, how could I possibly let you out?"
As he spoke, the windows and doors around him began to rattle. Belle on the table seemed to struggle, trembling as if trying to break free, and slowly began to float.
A pink, spectral haze hung in the air. Today, Victor Fan’s house was deserted—not a soul remained, not even the gatekeeper. Wu Zheng had given strict orders, and Victor Fan had to ask Henry Luo to bring officers to guard the courtyard, ensuring no one came near.
"Why are you so stubborn? Women ought to be gentle, soft as jade—that’s what’s truly precious. I’ve been close to many women, and those wild, untamable types rarely win anyone’s favor."
Victor Wu spoke as he took another sip of wine. Now I understood why so much wine was placed beside him—he kept drinking, his body still trembling uncontrollably.
At that moment, Belle rose upright, floating in midair. A chilling wind swept through the room, shattering several wine jars with a crash, and Victor Wu immediately set down his wine jar.
"The fighters at the front... as fire in hand, divine weapons, swift as law..."
With a series of sharp claps, Wu Zheng struck his palms together. All around Belle, crimson flames erupted, crackling and hissing as they burned.
"I'm not fond of using force against beautiful women, you know. Just be good, let's have a heart-to-heart and resolve this peacefully. Why let things get ugly? Cecilia, no matter how much you resent her, wasn't everything you did in life your own choice? He made mistakes too. Let's drink, laugh, and let bygones be bygones. When his time is up, and he's dead, you can do as you please—kill him, torment him, whatever. For now, he's still human, and as a Daoist, I can't just stand by and do nothing."
Wu Zheng kept clapping, conjuring flames that fully enveloped Belle. He took a swig of liquor, and at last, his trembling ceased.
I watched as tendrils of blackness seeped from Belle, feeding the flames and turning into wisps of blue smoke. That was the ghastly yin energy released from her body, incinerated by the red fire.
"We Daoists value the unity of heaven and earth, focus of spirit, movement in formlessness. My master, Laozi, taught me this, and I just repeat his words. Well, Cecilia, can you speak now? Let's talk properly."
Wu Zheng’s words left me stunned. He was actually Laozi’s disciple, a founder of Daoism. I blinked, staring at him, but suddenly recalled his encounter with the Poison Star and his choice of words. My admiration for him instantly turned to ashes.
"Right now, he's just a lecher, plain and simple."
A piercing howl echoed through the room. Instantly, the flames surrounding Belle were snuffed out, plunging the space into darkness. Wu Zheng’s eyes glowed with a golden light.
Suddenly, Wu Zheng leapt to his feet. With a sharp swish, Belle swept above his head, and a rush of air blasted toward the door. With a thunderous crack, the door split in two, leaving the corridor and living room in utter chaos.
With a whoosh, Wu Zheng sprang forward, seizing Belle mid-flight with a fierce grip.
"Cecilia, such a fiery temper isn’t good for you."
I heard a sharp crack—Wu Zheng’s hand was freezing over, his skin turning to ice. He shuddered, dragged along by Belle’s strength. He managed a smile, but as they reached the doorway, it looked as if Wu Zheng was wielding a sword, flying out. In truth, the sword was dragging him through the air.
With a metallic clang, Wu Zheng drove the sword into the ground. Raising his hand, he bit his finger, quickly tracing a blood-red Bagua on his left palm. Then, with a resounding slap, he struck the sword’s hilt, and Belle was instantly swallowed by the earth.
A burst of golden light flared up, and Wu Zheng wiped sweat from his brow.
"If you have strength left, go on. This is a place of earth with little gold—your yin energy can’t overcome the local earth energy. Make all the trouble you want, but you’ll tire yourself out."
Wu Zheng sat down, then went inside and hauled out several wine jars. At that moment, a pink mist seemed to appear in the sky, growing denser and drifting outward.
With a crash, the two wine jars in Wu Zheng’s hands shattered on the ground. He leapt high, balancing on one leg in the golden rooster stance, arms spread wide.
"The Dao that can be spoken is not the eternal Dao; the name that can be named is not the eternal name. The nameless is the beginning of heaven and earth, the named is the mother of all things. Swift as law!"
A flurry of sound erupted—golden spikes flashed into view, flying out and striking eight directions. They pinned down the pink mist, which had nearly spilled over the courtyard wall, holding it back with an invisible barrier. Clouds swirled and gathered.
"Ah, look at me—my memory’s slipping. I really must be getting old. With so many living souls outside, if you kill them all, things will get out of hand."
Wu Zheng sighed, glanced at the shattered wine jars, and returned inside to fetch more. This time, he brought out a large plate of cold beef, slicing it with a small knife as he drank and ate.
"Let me sing you a song, Cecilia. Forgive my humble performance..."
I blinked, watching Wu Zheng clutch his wine jar. He took a deep swig, cleared his throat, and began to sing with a raw, powerful voice.
"You and I are but mortals, born into this world of men. We toil endlessly, never a moment’s rest. Since we are not immortals, stray thoughts are inevitable. Righteousness set aside, profit takes center stage. How many men, in a fit of anger, fight for beauty? How many birds of a feather, still fly apart? Life is so short—why cling so bitterly to love..."
The lyrics rang out clear and crisp, though some notes were oddly heavy and resonant. Yet the voice carried a strange power, dispersing much of the pink mist that shrouded the room.
Wu Zheng kept singing, gradually beginning to dance. He hugged the wine jar, brandishing an invisible sword in his hand. Slowly, the rosy mist faded. It looked less like a Daoist exorcism and more like a wild musical performance.
Then Wu Zheng stopped. From within Belle came the sound of weeping laughter, wrenching at the heart. Wu Zheng paused and bowed deeply, full of respect.
"Cecilia, since you’re already dead, unable to live as a human, why not let go of all this? I’ll perform a rite to help you move on, so you can reincarnate sooner. My master Laozi once said, 'What people fear, cannot be ignored.'"
Wu Zheng sat down, listening to Cecilia’s sobs, his face shadowed with sorrow. He’d long known her story: Victor Fan had offered the woman he loved, Cecilia, as a weapon of state, sending her to the Kingdom of Wu—leading to its downfall.
Now, everyone talked about it. The tale became gossip over tea, with scholars writing bamboo slips to curse Cecilia for bringing ruin. The people of Wu wanted her dead.
Rumors spread far and wide. Some said Cecilia returned home and left with Victor Fan; others claimed she fled before disaster struck. Lords from every nation sought news of her, eager to see the beauty who toppled Wu.
"What I know, Cecilia, is that you faced all this alone, with courage and selflessness—truly admirable. But fate and the human heart are fickle. Victor Fan, in the end, is just a man, and in this male-dominated world, few pity your plight. Most praise Victor Fan as a hero. Personally, I believe that, centuries from now, history may judge more fairly."
As Wu Zheng spoke, Cecilia’s cries grew more desperate. He kept trying to comfort her.
"Tonight, your beloved Victor Fan will share a bed with another. That’s why sorrow and hatred gnaw at your heart. There’s nothing you can do."
No sooner had Wu Zheng finished speaking than the pink mist, which had nearly vanished, surged back in thick waves. Wu Zheng’s face changed.
"This is bad..."
Whispers of women’s voices floated in, seductive and enchanting. The mist thinned, and all around, graceful women in white veils appeared, each one breathtakingly beautiful.
Petite and lovely, elegant and wild, seductive and captivating—women of every kind danced in gauzy robes amid the pink clouds. Their pale, rosy skin glimmered through the sheer fabric, and now and then, a hem would lift, revealing more.
"He’s not just any lecher—he’s the king of them all."
I glanced over—Wu Zheng was dumbstruck, mouth agape and drooling. He clapped his hands with glee, rushing into the midst of the dancing women, weaving through clouds and mist.