Chapter Two: Sai Meixiang’s Tragic Death at the Hands of the Warrior, The First Burial and the Art of Changing One’s Appearance

Summoning souls, the ancient script of gold records the life of the corpse.

When a person dies, the lamps are extinguished; when the body perishes, the path ends.

Through the endless cycles of the three realms, soul, return to us.

In the haze between worlds, golden ancient characters floated, rising and falling upon the Soul Summoning Banner—each one recounting a life. As the golden words sank into the banner, scenes spun before Song Mo’s eyes like a lantern carousel.

He saw the life of the man whose skin he now wore.

In the seventh year of Jian’an, the Defeng Troupe journeyed to the capital to make their living. In life, this man was the famed leading actress of the troupe, Sai Meixiang.

Sai Meixiang’s real surname was She, and his name was She Meixiang. Gifted with a beautiful voice and solid mastery of the operatic arts, he became the troupe’s mainstay and was beloved by the theater’s audiences. The troupe master, seeing his talent, gave him the stage name Sai Meixiang.

He was of poor birth, born from the misfortune of a courtesan at the Peony House who conceived by accident and gave birth prematurely. The courtesan, harboring no affection for a child whose father she did not know, abandoned him in the back alley under cover of night.

Fate was not done with him. At dawn, Old She, the night-soil collector, found the boy and took him home.

Old She raised the boy to the age of seven and named him She Meixiang. When age and hardship caught up with him, Old She sent the child to the opera, apprenticed to the master of the Defeng Troupe, to earn his keep.

Sai Meixiang grew up with a handsome face and a natural voice, possessing the patience to endure hardship. Seven years later, he had become the leading lady of the stage.

With Defeng Troupe’s arrival in the capital and Sai Meixiang among them, their reputation soon soared. Sai Meixiang became the talk of the city’s elite, and even the secluded young ladies of noble houses longed for a glimpse of his artistry.

Yet, as the saying goes, actors are heartless and courtesans are unfeeling. The rise of Sai Meixiang sparked jealousy in the troupe’s leading lady in green robes.

Sun Hongyan, known as the Living Peony, was famed for her beauty. She could not stomach being overshadowed by a man, especially after a wealthy young lady scattered a field of sunflower seeds on the stage for Sai Meixiang after a performance.

When the audience drew near, they discovered it was not sunflower seeds, but gleaming grains of gold.

Living Peony’s jealousy gnawed at her, and as the night deepened, the bitterness festered into a poisonous plot.

She decided to sow discord between Sai Meixiang and the troupe’s martial actor, hoping to have the martial actor kill Sai Meixiang.

Sai Meixiang, with his feminine features, was born to play the leading lady. Years of performing duets with the martial actor kindled a twisted romance between them—a secret in the small world of the troupe, but not from Living Peony’s sharp eyes.

Once malice took root, it grew uncontrollably. Soon, Living Peony found her opportunity.

A wealthy young lady, smitten with Sai Meixiang, sent a letter to the troupe; by chance, it fell into Living Peony’s hands. Her eyes flashed with cunning as she hatched her plan.

She replied to the lady in Sai Meixiang’s name, arranging a midnight rendezvous by the city moat.

Then, she told Sai Meixiang that the martial actor wanted to meet him at the moat at the same hour. Sai Meixiang suspected nothing.

The next day, Living Peony deliberately leaked word of Sai Meixiang’s secret meeting to the martial actor. Half in doubt, the martial actor witnessed the tryst that night.

Hot-tempered, the martial actor—goaded by Living Peony—drew his blade the next day and killed the “faithless” Sai Meixiang.

Fortunately, the capital prefect Tang Li swiftly unraveled the case. Justice prevailed: the martial actor and Living Peony were arrested and awaited execution in autumn.

Sai Meixiang perished pitifully. The troupe master, out of old affection, paid to have his body sent here, ensuring Sai Meixiang could depart with dignity.

…

The scenes played through like a lantern reel until the last, as the remnant soul of the corpse whose skin Song Mo wore was drawn into the Soul Summoning Banner.

Soul, return; draw the soul into the record.

Heaven and earth—mysterious and vast—four ranks, nine grades.

In the end, the Soul Register gave the corpse its price: seventh grade, yellow rank.

Song Mo awoke from his trance. The world of mountains and seas vanished, the Soul Register was gone, but a reward had appeared in his hand.

A long-eared white rabbit, its fur as white as snow, with bright red eyes spinning ceaselessly.

The Elusive Rabbit.

In a flash, the rabbit dissipated into smoke, and a new memory surfaced in Song Mo’s mind.

The Art of Disguise!

The male rabbit’s feet are elusive, the female rabbit’s eyes are mysterious—when two rabbits run side by side, can you tell which is male or female?

Elusive steps and mysterious eyes—In an ancient southern temple lived a wondrous beast, seen by thousands of pilgrims each day. Faces and forms ever-changing, it learned to capture souls, spirits, and skins, mastering the art of transformation. Encounter it, and you will grasp the secrets of altering features and posture.

Soul Register, mortuary, rewards…

This is nothing less than a cheat!

In troubled times, to possess such a divine artifact—surely there is a place in this vast world where he can carve out a life.

Song Mo was delighted.

The Art of Disguise!

In a world such as this, such a skill could not be more practical.

Song Mo had been worried about survival in this chaotic age, but now, with the Soul Register, the future looked bright.

He had wanted to collect a few more corpses, but the oil in the bronze lamp at the northwest corner was spent, and the clang of a copper gong sounded outside the mortuary.

As dawn approached and the lamp burned low, the mortuary artisans packed up their tools.

With the crow of a rooster in the courtyard, yang energy descended and yin energy dispersed.

By the customs of the Yin Gate, at this hour, no more mortuary work could be done—disturbing the dead would bring disaster.

The sky lightened, still tinged with the last pale stars. Lifting the wooden boards, Song Mo stepped out of the mortuary.

The mortuary was small, with thirty-six rooms in a row. The door of Song Mo’s room bore the number seven in ancient script.

It was still early. Song Mo was about to warm himself with a bowl of oil tea in the old alley when a shrill voice from behind stopped him: “Mortuary Room Eighteen—artisan missing! Mortuary Room Eighteen—artisan missing!”

A chill ran through Song Mo. Another one had died.

It was not easy to make a living in the Yin Gate; offending spirits was a constant risk, and walking corpses was common. The faces in the mortuary often changed.

It was still early. Song Mo turned back to check on Mortuary Room Eighteen.

From a distance, he saw two groups of officials at the door. He recognized the black-robed Mortuary Division—they oversaw all matters here, including the artisans.

The other group, Song Mo recognized with a frown.

Three men in purple official garb embroidered with black tigers—Six Doors.

At their head was Li Ze, Deputy Commander of Six Doors, his waist adorned with his badge.

Song Mo wisely turned to leave.

Six Doors appearing at the mortuary meant trouble—a major case, perhaps.

“You there, come over,” a Mortuary Division officer called to Song Mo.

Song Mo, unable to avoid it, forced a smile. “Sir, how may I serve you?”

The officer pointed to Room Eighteen. “You’re an artisan?”

Song Mo nodded. “Room Seven, Song Mo.”

The officer nodded, then lowered his voice. “Do you think something unclean is afoot in there?”

Song Mo glanced into Room Eighteen. It was clean. On the table lay a corpse that had not yet been worked on, and on the floor, another dead man—the mortuary artisan.

Song Mo frowned. “It’s too far to see clearly, sir.”

The officer waved impatiently, signaling Song Mo to proceed.

He first examined the table—pale corpse, a stab wound to the chest.

Then he squatted by the body on the floor—the artisan’s face was frozen in terror, eyes wide, with a single thin wound on the neck.

Having formed an idea, Song Mo stepped outside.

“Well? Is it something unclean?” the officer asked.

Song Mo shook his head, uncertain. “It seems man-made. I can’t say why the wound is so thin, but it definitely isn’t the work of spirits.”

Li Ze, silent until now, suddenly spoke. “It was a blade.”

The officer objected, “A blade should leave blood, but the floor is clean.”

Li Ze’s eyes flashed. “The blade was fast.”

All were shocked—how fast must a blade be to kill without blood?

The officer waved Song Mo away. As Song Mo turned, he overheard two officers talking.

“Six Doors is involved—trouble for sure. Did you identify the corpse from last night?”

“Not ordinary—a deputy constable from Changning County.”

The deputy constable was the county magistrate’s right hand, overseeing law and order.

“Perhaps he angered criminals who came to desecrate the corpse?”

“That’s Six Doors’ concern. Our job is to hand the corpse to the mortuary artisan and let them do their work. After that, it’s no longer our problem.”

The two officers ordered both corpses from Room Eighteen to be carted away. The artisan's corpse was simply buried—no one cared.

Song Mo drank his oil tea and returned to the mortuary. The troupe master had already claimed Sai Meixiang’s body, and the room was empty and peaceful.

He lay on his bed and slept until the moon hung over the willow branches.

Outside, moonlight flowed like water. Within, faint wisps of yin energy swirled in the air.

Bang, bang, bang—a pounding at the door.

Another job had arrived.