Chapter Two: Partings Are Always Inevitable

The Place of Silence had always been cold and desolate.

With Chu Xingran and the Hanging Ghost gone, the ancestral hall grew even quieter.

The wind still howled, heavy with dampness; the spring rain had come unexpectedly.

Yet, despite the gentle drizzle, nothing seemed to change. Everything remained as it always was, much like Gu Zhiheng’s heart at this moment—calm on the surface, yet pounding swiftly beneath.

Within the ancestral hall stood the memorial tablets of the Gu family’s ancestors, too many to count; Gu Zhiheng had never bothered to tally them.

The wind, thick with moisture, sent a chill through his chronically frail body, reminiscent of the unease he felt whenever unexpected guests arrived.

Today, there were no outsiders in the ancestral hall—only the souls of the Gu family’s ancestors, and Gu Zhiheng himself, the unluckiest of them all.

Perhaps the atmosphere had grown too grave, for an elder, whose status was not to be taken lightly, finally spoke. “That young woman said she’s found a way to help you leave. It’s likely the method recorded in the Gu family’s secret annals. You’d best consider carefully before you act, child.”

The Gu family’s legacy stretched back centuries, through several dynasties—an illustrious house nearing a hundred years of continuous inheritance. If not for what happened after the founding of the nation...

Though much diminished, the family still possessed strength and influence; only their focus had shifted with the times.

“You know the Gu family’s affairs well enough. If you wish to avoid ending up like us after death, you might as well take the risk,” the elder concluded, his sigh heavy and lingering.

It was not just any ancestor who spoke, but Gu Zhiheng’s grandfather, who had passed away five years earlier—the previous head of the family.

As for the matter of each family head’s soul remaining trapped in the ancestral hall after death, Gu Zhiheng understood the reasons well enough, knew the entire story.

He hadn’t believed any of it at first, not until he learned Chu Xingran’s true identity—especially after the female ghost appeared ten years prior to cook and wash his clothes.

Everything changed then. It was as if a long-locked door had been opened in his heart, forcing him to confront truths he had never believed in, nor wanted to believe.

Because someone in the Gu family committed an unforgivable act and suffered heaven’s wrath, the descendants had been plagued with disaster after disaster.

Their fates altered, every family head since had been barred from reincarnation, unable to enter the cycle of rebirth, forever confined within the ancestral hall.

He had heard these words for twenty-three years. Perhaps it was time to see the world outside, to seek a way to send these old men on to their next lives.

With a faint, indifferent expression, Gu Zhiheng lifted his gaze to the throng of elders before him, then shook his head and stepped away.

Every decade, the ancestral hall was renovated, and its sprawling grounds gave him space to wander.

He wondered if the method they spoke of would work. After all, it was a centuries-old solution—who could say if those things still existed?

“Do those things you speak of really exist?” His doubt was plain in his voice, and the old men exchanged glances.

Truth be told, none of them could be certain. Some things, like serpent-headed men, might have once existed, but the rest seemed too strange, too far-fetched.

Besides, those things were said to be hideous and foul—how could he bear even to lay a hand on them, let alone put them in his mouth?

Though he was a modern man, familiar with contemporary knowledge, culture, and technology, his soul was still rooted in the old ways.

Especially when it came to taking life—Gu Zhiheng was profoundly averse, even repulsed by such acts.

His figure receded into the distance, though he never truly left the ancestral hall—just strolled leisurely along the path under the phoenix trees.

His earlier question was not only for the ancestors, but for himself as well.

There was a way, perhaps—but everything required for it had vanished centuries ago. Could anything truly remain?

His steps were aimless, his sickly face pale and delicate, his whole bearing as fragile as a caged bird.

It was almost humorous—he was a caged bird by nature, yet could not bear to see the fate of his ancestors, though all of it was simply karmic retribution.

“Last night beneath the phoenix trees I gazed at the moon; today I sigh, for old friends are lost forever.” The memories of the past lingered in his heart, and more besides.

He pitied the fate of his ancestors—was this not his own future as well?

Tonight, the spring rain fell endlessly, yet it could not soak through the dryness of Gu Zhiheng’s heart; drop by drop, it only touched his lonely soul.

For twenty-three years he had been trapped, yearning day and night to leave the ancestral hall, to see the world outside. Yet now that the day had come, his heart was strangely calm.

He wandered, letting the rain and wind wash away his old pride.

“Child, do what your heart tells you. The ancestral hall is your refuge, but also your prison.”

There was apology and regret in the words, but more than that, encouragement.

They had watched Gu Zhiheng grow up, watched Chu Xingran introduce the outside world to the old men, even if only through a screen.

Whether by phone or computer, Gu Zhiheng had never truly touched or entered the outside world.

A child like him would inevitably draw the scrutiny and gossip of the world if he stepped outside, but that was simply life.

“The ancestors jest. What heart do I have left? I think of nothing much—just can’t stand all you old men squabbling.” He raised his brow with a smile, masking and explaining at once.

So be it. In the end, he would have to face it. At least, for the sake of those old men, so they might be reborn, he could endure the world’s meddling.

With that thought, his restlessness faded, and he followed his heart back inside.

The future was uncertain, but the past was gone. All he could do was face reality as it came.

After rain, the sky would always clear, and even the scent of earth in the air would seem sweet.

Time slipped by quickly. As soon as Chu Xingran departed, Gu Zhiheng settled everything with the old men, so he had little to do in the days that followed.

Still, he worried. Apart from the family head, no one else in the Gu family could enter the ancestral hall except during the annual rites.

If he left, would these old men fall back into their mischief? Would they turn the ancestral hall upside down as before?

In the blink of an eye, seven days had passed.

The female ghost who cooked and cleaned returned, bringing with her a furious Chu Xingran and a naked little boy.

“Ninth Master, may your journey be safe and smooth!” There was reluctance in her voice and eyes, but for the sake of her master’s brother, she fought back tears that would not fall—after all, she could cry, but had no tears.

The old men’s eyes were full of sorrow, but farewells are the way of the world. “Let’s leave the goodbyes here. May you be safe and well, and may all go smoothly!”

As their words faded, a gust of wind swept by, and Gu Zhiheng and Chu Xingran were already a mile away from the ancestral hall.