Chapter One: Life and Death, Difficult to Decide

The stars glittered across the sky, a sight Dusty Willow hadn’t witnessed since stepping into the twenty-first century. Yet now he had no mind to appreciate the beauty, for he was about to die.

He had inexplicably found himself in a wild mountain valley that seemed ripped straight from a film, surrounded by a group of people dressed as ancient warriors, brandishing swords and knives. Before he could grasp the situation, a rain of arrows descended from above. There was no space to hide from the dense barrage; though he instinctively shielded his head, several rusty arrowheads unceremoniously lodged themselves in his thigh.

As the agony tore through his body and brought clarity to his dazed mind, he saw the valley’s withered, chaotic trees at the mouth ignite under a volley of fire arrows. In moments, a wall of flame sealed off the only exit.

“Captain? What’s going on? Weren’t we supposed to ambush the rebels?”

A few who had miraculously survived the arrows shouted in despair, their voices echoing through the fire-lit gorge. But the one they called Captain had not fared so well; struck fatally in the volley, he had already breathed his last.

The fire grew, acrid smoke filling the valley. Dusty Willow, recalling the fire safety training from his brief spell working in a restaurant, tore a coarse piece of burlap from a corpse, soaked it in blood, and pressed it over his mouth and nose as he lay flat on the ground.

The others, lacking such presence of mind, either rushed into the blazing inferno at the valley’s mouth in desperate hope or succumbed to the smoke where they fell. In less than an hour, all but Dusty Willow among the hundreds in the valley were dead. The flames at the entrance burned out after consuming every tree.

But by then, Dusty Willow had lost too much blood to save himself.

“Is this the end?”

His body faded, but his mind grew unexpectedly lucid. He thought, perhaps this was what they called a final burst of clarity before death.

Just as he slipped into unconsciousness, he felt a rustling nearby. Forcing his sticky eyelids open, he glimpsed a man in a blue-gray Daoist robe rummaging among the corpses, searching for something.

When the man reached him, Dusty Willow no longer had the strength to open his eyes. He only heard a puzzled mutter: “Strange, how did a pampered young master end up among these bailiffs? No matter. Though his bones are untempered, his spirit is whole—no worse than Captain Qin. A fine pair for a duality corpse.”

With that, the man stuffed a round pill into Dusty Willow’s mouth, and at last, everything went black.

When consciousness returned, it felt as though an age had passed, though the location was unchanged—the same valley, but the corpses had been gathered and hastily buried in the southwestern corner.

Opening his eyes, Dusty Willow found himself lying on the ground in a robe of coarse, pitch-black burlap. It was rough, almost like a grain sieve, full of holes. Strangely, despite the thin garment and the wild night air, he felt no chill.

A sudden, sharp ringing of a bell broke the silence. Dusty Willow’s body trembled involuntarily and sprang upright. Only now did he notice the massive Taiji diagram drawn beneath his feet. He had lain in the shadowed eye of the Taiji, while the opposite, the bright eye, was occupied by another figure clad in white burlap.

Outside the Taiji, the blue-gray robed Daoist held a long-handled bronze bell, striding around the circle and chanting under his breath.

As the Daoist performed his ritual, Dusty Willow felt a coolness descend from above, washing through him like spring water. Simultaneously, a weighty force rose steadily from the ground, slow but unyielding. The light and heavy energies moved through his body on separate tracks, the coolness returning to his brow, sharpening his mind, while the heaviness gathered in his abdomen, commanding his entire form.

Yet as these two forces accumulated, his control over his body waned. Now, at every chime of the bell, his body responded automatically, leaving him powerless.

Recalling the words he’d overheard before blacking out, Dusty Willow understood: the Daoist intended to refine him into a living corpse—a puppet to command.

A heretic!

If his bewildering transmigration had filled him with fear and panic, the prospect of being made a zombie brought only despair.

Then, after despair, came a rage that threatened to annihilate everything.

“I must kill this heretic!”

The realization of his fate sparked a pure, unfamiliar killing intent in Dusty Willow—though he had never even killed a chicken before. Strangely, he felt no aversion to this murderous resolve.

“There’s only one chance!”

He had no idea how powerful the Daoist was, but in his current state, he guessed that even if he managed to act, the bronze bell could easily subdue him again.

He suppressed his fury, waiting for the moment when the ritual ceased and the bell fell silent.

But the ceremony dragged on interminably. He had awoken as the waning moon had just risen; now it hung high, and dawn was near, yet the ritual showed no sign of ending.

Fortunately, as a corpse, his emotions were dulled. Though agitated, he managed to endure.

At last, as the first light of Venus glimmered in the sky, the bell abruptly fell silent. No longer restraining his rage, Dusty Willow leapt at the Daoist, claws outstretched for the man’s face.

The Daoist, weary from the night’s exertions, was caught off guard by Dusty Willow’s sudden attack. But he was no ordinary man; as Dusty Willow closed to within three feet, he reacted, reaching for the bronze bell at his waist.

Knowing how the bell could control him, Dusty Willow dared not let it ring again. But he was almost too late. In the crisis, he mustered all his strength, imitating moves he’d seen in martial arts films, and with a flying kick, sent the bell spinning away.

As the bell clattered to the ground, Dusty Willow had no time to relax. His body, beyond his control, lurched forward and crashed hard into a mound of earth. Luckily, as a corpse, such bumps meant little; with a few slaps, he stood up again.

“So that’s what’s happening! Heaven’s favor, indeed, to grant me such an innately gifted guardian! With such a protector on my path, I have nothing to fear!”

Seizing on Dusty Willow’s loss of control, the Daoist sprang back several yards, making a hand sign and laughing triumphantly.

But Dusty Willow’s heart sank at the sight and words. He tried once more to attack, but the dual energies within him clashed violently, like runaway trains. His body sagged, and he collapsed, realizing his plan had failed.

Thinking of his fate, fury blazed hotter within him, but rage could not move this body an inch.

“Tsk, what a pity. Who knows whose descendant you are? In these chaotic times, meddling has brought you to this half-dead state—a fitting consequence. But rest easy: once I master my Dao, I’ll erase your spirit, ending all your suffering.”

Seeing Dusty Willow helpless, the Daoist strolled leisurely toward the fallen bell, speaking with a smile.

But as he neared, he noticed wisps of dark energy coiling around Dusty Willow, twisting the body he had so carefully refined.

“Hmph! The world is in turmoil, bones litter every field. Do you think the resentment of some hundred dead souls can overturn the heavens?”

The Daoist’s face darkened as he glanced at the haphazardly buried corpses in the northwest corner. He tore a square of cloth from his robe, bit his finger, and with blood drew a talisman upon it, then slapped it toward Dusty Willow’s forehead.

Before the charm could land, Dusty Willow’s eyes snapped open, black flames flickering in their depths. As his gaze touched the charm, it ignited from the bottom up, burning to ash in a wisp of smoke.

“You! Impossible! How can you wield such a flame of dissolution?”

The Daoist’s hand trembled as he pointed in shock at Dusty Willow.

Without answering, Dusty Willow, now in control of his body thanks to the black flame, seized the Daoist’s arm and tore it cleanly from his shoulder.

Screaming, the Daoist finally came to his senses. With a secret technique, his face turned a fiery red, and moving with the agility of a wildcat, he tumbled away and vanished into the night.