Wen De walked home.
His left leg dragged. His right arm hung loose. His face was not a face anymore — it was something swollen and wet and wrong. Blood dripped from his chin onto his shirt. His shirt was already ruined. His pants were torn at the knee.
He did not feel most of it.
The shock was still holding him. The numbness. The thing his mother had taught him — tahan, hold it — was working. He held it. He held everything. The pain. The shame. The way the crowd had smiled while they hit him. The way the woman had smiled while she counted his money.
He held it all.
He turned onto his street. The dog from the morning was still there, sleeping in the same patch of shade. The cart at the corner had no line now. The neighbor's light was off.
He climbed the three steps to his front door.
His key would not go into the lock. His hand was shaking too much. He tried three times. Four times. On the fifth try, the key slid in. He turned it. The door opened.
The house was quiet.
His mother was in her room. He could hear her breathing. Slow. Even. Asleep.
He did not go to her. He could not let her see him like this. Not yet. He went to the bathroom instead. He locked the door. He turned on the light.
The mirror showed him what he already knew.
His left eye was almost closed. His lip was split in two places. His nose was not broken but it was close. The skin on his cheekbone was purple and black. There was blood in his teeth.
He ran the water. He cupped his right hand under the faucet and brought water to his face. It burned. Everything burned.
He washed the blood off slowly. Piece by piece.
Behind his eyes, something watched.
He felt it now. Not a pressure anymore. Not a weight. A presence. Something that had not been there yesterday. Something that had arrived while he was being beaten.
It did not speak. It did not move. It simply watched.
Wen De looked at himself in the mirror. His swollen face. His bloodied teeth. His one good eye.
He whispered: Who are you?
No answer.
The thing smiled. He could not see it. He could feel it. Somewhere deep. Somewhere behind his eyes. Somewhere in the blood his grandfather had given him.
It smiled.
He turned off the water.
---
In the void, the body waited.
The child sat cross-legged on nothing. His eyes were closed. His breathing was slow. Around him, the three coffins floated. Dark wood. Smooth. No markings.
He had been sitting like this for many years.
He opened his eyes.
He said: He is awake now. The second soul has arrived.
He looked at the coffins.
He said: Soon, Grandfather. Soon, Mother. Soon, Father. I will wake you. But not yet. There is still work to do.
He closed his eyes again.
The void was silent.
---
In heaven, the Lingxiao Treasure Hall was not silent.
The Jade Emperor sat on his throne. His fingers pressed into the armrest. The jade did not crack. It never cracked. But for the second time in a thousand years, it almost did.
The Heavenly Censor stood before him. His voice was low. Careful.
He said: The Black Flag is gone. And so are the three of them. Gone without a trace.
The Jade Emperor said nothing. He waved his hand.
The Heavenly Censor bowed. He turned. He walked out of the hall.
The Jade Emperor sat alone.
He whispered something that only he knew.
---
Wen De's mother woke at two in the afternoon.
He heard her before she made any sound — the particular way the mattress shifted, the particular silence that changed when she was conscious. He was sitting in the kitchen. His face was still swollen. His eye was still almost closed. There was nothing he could do about it now.
She called out: Ah Wen.
He stood. He walked to her room. He stood in the doorway.
She looked at him.
She did not scream. She did not cry. She did not ask what happened. She looked at his face — the purple cheek, the split lip, the eye that could not open — and her own face did not change.
She said: Who did this?
He said: It does not matter.
She said: Who did this, Ah Wen?
He was silent.
She said: Was it the market?
He nodded.
She said nothing for a long time. Then she reached for the small table beside her bed. She opened the drawer. She took out a notebook. Blue cover. Plain. The same kind she had given him when he was seven years old.
She held it out to him.
She said: Write it down. Do not forget it. Write exactly what happened. Write what they said. Write the date. Write the place.
He took the notebook.
She said: This country has done things to its people simply because they were born with a different face and a different name. They will say it did not happen. They will say you imagined it. They will say you are too sensitive. You are not too sensitive. Write it down. So there is proof.
He held the notebook.
He said: I know, Mother. I know. Don't worry. I have a feeling this time this country's fate is slipping. They will regret what they have done to us. To anyone of a different ethnicity. Different religion. When that time comes, let's see if their god can help them.
Wen De said all of that while keeping his emotion in check. But after all, he was just a human being who didn't have any power. Who had no say in anything.
He went back to the kitchen. He sat at the table. He opened the notebook to the next blank page.
He wrote the date.
Then he wrote what had happened at the market. The woman. The wallet. The crowd. The fists. The blood. The words.
Cina keparat.
He wrote it all.
Behind his eyes, the thing watched.
It was not smiling anymore.
It was reading.
---
At night, after taking care of his mother, Wen De went to his room. He closed the door and sat on his bed. For a while, nothing happened.
Then the first sob came. Quiet. Then the second sob. Tears just flowed out from his old eyes. No words came out. But he felt it. The rage. The emotion. The need to kill.
Then he heard a sigh.
He froze. He turned his head around and asked slowly, quietly: Who's there? Come out. Are you a ghost?
Something came out from his body. A soul.
For a while, Wen De froze. Not sure what to do.
Then the soul turned around and looked at him. Observing carefully, like an adult observing a little kid.
Then he said: I am not supposed to interfere. But what I saw really made me feel so terrible my skin is itching. Although I think I have no skin to talk about. Ahahahaha. But really, you are so pathetic. Are you sure you are Yanluo Wang?
Wen De was still frozen. He started to ask: What — wh — what? Who are you? Why — where — what — why are you coming out from inside me?
The soul laughed and smiled. Are you really Yanluo Wang's reincarnation? Even when you talk, you talk like a kid. Can't you see the point right now?
Now, let me tell you. You are just a chess piece. Arranged by something or someone. They like to play with others' emotions. Interfere with others' fate. So all you humans can do is just wait for slaughter. Hahahaha. You get it now, human?
Wen De, with numbness, said slowly: So are you a ghost or some deity sent to toy with me? With my life? Can you please stop? I don't care what you all do to me. Please just don't hurt my mother. She is already so old. Let her be. Let her pass away with peace someday.
The soul said: You're begging the wrong person. Oh no — you're begging the wrong soul. I am not the one responsible for your misery. In fact, I am here because someone sent me to protect you.
Wen De said back: Yeah right. By protecting me, you mean throwing all the misery, all the injustice, all the racism at me and my family? Yeah. Nice try, dude. Or whatever the hell you are.
Hahahaha. Good. That's the spirit. Don't look like a dead man all day long. I just arrived one day, and I'm already desperate to see you like this.
Now, I am going to help you. Want to beg me? The soul asked slowly and teasingly.
Wen De said: Even if I beg you, what can you do to them? Almost a hundred people hit me. All I wish is to live my remaining life. To take care of my mother. Without any other intervention from the rich and authority.
The soul said: Oh, I can make them — all of them — beg to die rather than live. Do you want that?
Wen De said: Yes. I want that. If you can make them regret their whole lives, I am ready to sacrifice my life. I don't have anything of worth. Just take my life. As long as I can take care of my mother until she passes away, you can have the rest of my life.
Tchhh. Who wants your life? What is your life worth, after all? Let me tell you — your mother will live the rest of her life smoothly. But she doesn't have long to go.
Wen De jumped and asked: What? Why? What do you mean? How long does she have? Tell me.
She should already be gone, you know. Because of you, her death has been postponed. Your mother worried that if she died, you would lose your reason and something bad would happen to you. That is why she prays every day. Prays to the one god she recognized from her childhood.
What? Wen De said with an unbelieving face.
Now don't worry about that. Let me ask you — what do you want to happen to the people who made you miserable today? Tell me, while I am feeling generous.
I want them to be alive but dead at the same time. And every waking hour, they will be in deep pain without any cure. Not even a god can do anything to help them. If gods even exist.
Okay. Consider it done. Now sleep. You will forget everything that happened just now.
The soul flicked his hand. Wen De started to sway and fell asleep fast.
The soul then looked to the west. The very place where that woman lived.
He chuckled and flew up. He looked around. His divine consciousness started penetrating everything. Everyone. Every animal. After some time, his consciousness returned.
He said: So this is that kind of place. The place where they do death by a thousand cuts.
He gritted his teeth and said: I never expected this kind of thing even happens in the mortal world.
Hmm. What to do? The soul touched his own nose and thought.
Finally, he said: So be it. Let the game begin.
Hahahaha.