Chapter 24: The Bronze Oil Lamp

“Tell me what happened,” Liu Chen said, gazing at the middle-aged man.

The man glanced at the boy, sighed, and replied, “I don’t even know where to begin. A group of fugitives from the mountains saw the villagers being taken away by the He family and snuck into the village to steal grain. But because of you, the villagers managed to escape back, and the fugitives ran straight into us. I, along with a few men, had followed you and that Taoist halfway to He Fortress, just to see what was happening. The fugitives, thinking there were no men left, grew bold. Instead of fleeing, they tried to take advantage, and a fight broke out. Some died—including this boy’s parents. But the fugitives were all killed as well. As for revenge, it’s just a child’s words. Please don’t take it to heart.”

Listening to Luo’s explanation, Liu Chen understood the sequence of events and the source of the cries he’d heard. Reflecting on it, he realized he himself was somehow entangled in the matter. If he hadn’t intervened, the villagers would have entered He Fortress quietly, and perhaps no one would have died.

Of course, Liu Chen didn’t blame himself; he simply lamented the chaos of this world. In just a few days, he had witnessed more death than he ever had in a lifetime on Earth.

“It’s not true! If that Taoist hadn’t come, those people wouldn’t have appeared, and my parents wouldn’t be dead! I will train in martial arts, and one day, I’ll kill those Taoists like a grown-up!” the boy shouted, half-bent and pouring all his strength into his words, clearly dissatisfied with the man’s explanation.

The middle-aged man’s face flashed with anger at the boy’s stubbornness, but it soon faded, replaced by a weary exhaustion. “Don’t talk nonsense. Those Taoists possess supernatural powers. Even if you trained your whole life, you couldn’t avenge them. Just live well, so at least at the end of the year you can offer incense to your parents.”

He sighed again, beckoned someone nearby, and had the boy led away. The boy did not resist, quietly following, though as he left, his eyes widened with expectation as he looked at Liu Chen.

Liu Chen felt a surge of emotion at the boy’s hopeful gaze. He could not bear the child's plight, yet his own abilities were mostly derived from his zombie body and ghostly flames—he could not teach them to anyone. The little martial skill he possessed was the Eighteen Techniques for Defeating Enemies, a battlefield art too fierce for such a frail child. So he suppressed his urge to help, choosing not to interfere.

“What are your plans now?” Liu Chen asked, feeling frustrated as the boy departed, unable to find the right words and turning to the middle-aged man.

“No real plans,” the man replied without concealment. “The He family says they’re preparing for war, so we’re taking grain up the mountain to hide for a while, hoping to survive this calamity.”

“Winter is coming soon,” Liu Chen said, unable to hide his concern. “Aren’t you afraid of freezing or getting hurt up there?”

He studied the man, whose honest face and alert gaze suggested capability. How could someone like him make such a reckless decision?

The man laughed. “You jest, sir. Who doesn’t freeze or suffer in winter? We’ll endure it—that’s all.”

He eyed Liu Chen in return, noticing his ordinary clothes but tall stature, clearly not from a poor household. Remembering the martial skill Liu Chen had displayed earlier, he understood Liu Chen’s concern and replied with a smile.

“If you can’t endure it, you die!” Liu Chen said, his tone heavy, still incredulous at the man’s lighthearted answer.

“Everyone dies sooner or later. It can’t be helped. At least this year we have grain, much better than twelve years ago. Most will survive.” The man seemed unconcerned by Liu Chen’s stern tone, even calm. Having sized Liu Chen up, he added, “And thanks to you, we caught a Taoist this year. Even if someone dies, with a Taoist to perform rites, they won’t become restless ghosts. Maybe a few lucky souls might even enjoy paradise.”

Hearing this, Liu Chen was at a loss for words and could only shake his head.

Yet the mention of the Taoist piqued his interest. From the man’s account, the Taoist was likely Lu Qingzong. It seemed the villagers had not sought revenge against him, instead entrusting their afterlife to his rites, so they would not make things difficult for him.

This, Liu Chen felt, could not be ignored. After all, the one who had tricked him was still living comfortably among them, and that sat poorly with him.

The boy’s plight and the man’s ignorance weighed on his spirit; he needed to vent somehow.

“Take me over there,” Liu Chen said, pointing toward the direction of the cries.

“Ah, yes, sir!” the man replied, startled by the request, but quickly recovered and led Liu Chen without question.

After a few steps and a turn, they reached a clearing dotted with campfires. The villagers were gathered in groups around the flames.

In the center, atop a loose earthen platform, sat a bronze oil lamp, its pale light flickering. Before it knelt Lu Qingzong, the Taoist whom Liu Chen had earlier knocked unconscious.

Yet Liu Chen’s attention was not on Lu Qingzong, for he sensed a soothing aura emanating from the bronze lamp.