Chapter One: Strange Occurrences in the Night

“Ting-ling, ting-ling, ting-ling, heh heh, heh heh…”

“Ting-ling, ting-ling, haha, heh heh…”

“Heh heh, ting-ling, ting-ling…”

The sound of bells, the laughter of children—how innocent, how pure! But in the dead of night, shrouded in darkness, these sounds were chilling, terrifying, especially when one could hear but not see their source.

Obsidian sat in his room, face dark, doing his best to ignore the noises outside. He swore to himself that no matter who knocked at his door at night from now on, he would never open it again.

The sounds outside the door drifted closer and farther, sometimes near, sometimes distant, keeping Obsidian wide awake. Frustrated, he took a deep breath and decided to throw caution to the wind. He opened the door and stepped outside.

“Who’s there?” Obsidian shouted. The sounds halted, as if startled, then resumed, laughter mingling with the bells.

Obsidian, speechless, turned to retreat back inside. Was he out of his mind, arguing with some phantom presence?

But when he tried to force his legs to move, he realized his body was no longer his to command—it was heading in another direction entirely. His resolve crumbled.

No, it can’t be, he thought bitterly. How many days had he been here, and now this?

The night grew deeper, the world still, dew beading on every surface.

The light in Obsidian’s eyes slowly faded. He drifted, his consciousness hazy, following the now-distant sound as the mist thickened around him.

In the distance, a faint road appeared, though where it led, or whether it had an end, he could not tell.

Soon enough, all became clear.

He sensed he had stopped moving. Slowly, the control of his body returned, his awareness sharpened, and his vision slowly came into focus. Nearby, he heard the rush of water, so close it was as if it was right at his feet.

It was a familiar place, a familiar sensation—he knew this path all too well. He took a few steps forward and saw a figure—a figure he had just dreamed of days ago.

Facing this scene, Obsidian felt a chill in his heart. He didn’t want to overthink things; it was exhausting. Yet the situation before him planted an absurd idea in his mind.

Sweat poured from him; he dared not move or take another step forward. But a voice within urged him on: Go, go, hurry, or it will be too late. Don’t you want to know? Haven’t you always wanted to know?

He could not control his emotions. As the distance closed, his face grew paler and paler—closer, ever closer…

Obsidian stood behind the figure. Unlike in his dream, the person’s clothes were soaked—completely drenched. He felt a chill at his feet. Looking down, he saw the ground awash with blood, streaming endlessly from the figure before him.

So that was why the person’s clothes were so wet. Obsidian’s face grew even more ashen. Trembling, he reached out a hand and asked, “You, you, are you all right?” His voice quivered uncontrollably.

“Don’t touch him!” A furious shout came from behind, snapping Obsidian out of his trance. He turned and was suddenly swept into a strong, warm embrace.

His nerves slackened, his body softened, and he could only lean helplessly against his rescuer. As a cool, clear voice murmured in his ear, he heard an undercurrent of concern: “You’re braver than I expected.”

Yama held Obsidian tightly, calming the frantic rhythm of his heart. That moment had truly frightened him. Thank heavens he had left his mark on Obsidian—otherwise, the consequences would have been dire.

Obsidian leaned against Yama, catching his breath. When he finally managed to focus, he saw there was no figure ahead at all—he’d almost stepped off the bridge where the railing had rotted away.

Now he understood the warning from the underworld official—never to go out at night. He’d fallen for a charm, and truly had only himself to blame.

He glanced up at Yama, whose eyes were fathomless, like a whirlpool that threatened to swallow him whole. Something within them was on the verge of breaking free, and Obsidian almost lost himself.

He quickly looked away and muttered stubbornly, “Of course I’m brave.”

Yama released him, his gaze darkening as he looked at Obsidian’s embarrassment. He took Obsidian’s hand and led him back the way they had come. “There must not be a next time.”

There must not be a next time, Yama repeated inwardly. No matter who this person was, he would not allow such things to happen within his realm.

On the way there, Obsidian had been in a daze, lost in the thick fog, unable to see his surroundings. But as he followed Yama back, the mist cleared, and Obsidian stopped, staring in shock at the scene before him, hand over his mouth, his face drained of color.

Only one phrase echoed in his mind—hell on earth. In the blood-red light of dawn, the river of blood had ceased to flow, and was packed with people—faces twisted in agony, hands all reaching toward the same direction, as if begging for rescue. But they remained trapped in the river, frozen as if in ice.

Yama, sensing Obsidian had stopped, turned to see him transfixed by the river, his face grave.

Softly, Yama explained, “This river is called Lethe. Those who fall in are beyond redemption—never to be reborn as humans.”

Obsidian’s eyes reddened at his words. Among the crowd, he saw elders, children, women… Were they all truly beyond forgiveness?

“What you see is a tragedy—a disaster none could prevent. These poor souls were merely collateral victims,” Yama said.

Obsidian walked on with Yama, silent, until he had to ask, “Is there nothing that can be done to save them?”

Yama met his gaze, answering each word with solemn gravity: “If there was a way, I would have used it thousands of years ago.”

Thousands of years? Had they suffered so long? Obsidian felt a bitter ache in his heart, heavy and suffocating, as if these were his own kin.

Unable to describe the feeling, he could only follow Yama in a daze.

“Ting-ling, ting-ling…” The bell sounded again in the distance—the same that had lured him out before. Without thinking, Obsidian gripped Yama’s hand.

Yama frowned, calling out sternly toward the source, “Come out!”

From behind a tree emerged a little child, no more than four or five years old, giggling with a mocking lilt, “Father, it hasn’t been long, and you’re already seeking new company? You really are quite the ladies’ man!”

From the child’s angle, he couldn’t see Obsidian’s face.

“Where’s Guideng?” Yama asked impatiently.

The child only laughed. “What, you want to lock me away again? If Mother were still here, would she let you treat me like this?”

Obsidian hid behind Yama, listening to the exchange, and whatever goodwill he’d felt for Yama vanished. In his mind, he had already constructed a melodramatic tale of a cold-hearted man who abandoned his wife and child and mistreated them both.

Obsidian let go of Yama’s hand and came out from behind him. Yama looked at him in surprise but did not stop him.

The moment Obsidian saw the child’s face, he was instantly smitten. Big, dark eyes widened in anger, a round little face, delicate features—he looked just like a character straight from an anime. Dressed in white, cheeks puffed, body trembling with indignation—this little dumpling, with his chubby cheeks and hands, was irresistibly adorable. Obsidian could hardly resist the urge to pinch and squeeze him.

His body acted before his mind caught up—suddenly, he was hugging the child, one arm around him, the other kneading those plump little hands, eyes squinting with satisfaction at the soft, bouncy sensation—better even than he’d imagined.

Yan Nianqing hadn’t even had time to react before he was picked up. He looked up in fury, but the moment he saw Obsidian’s face, the fire within him died. In a heartbeat, he hugged Obsidian tightly, refusing to let go.

Obsidian felt the child trembling in his arms. Thinking he had frightened the boy, he let him cling to his neck and gently patted his back, soothing him, “Don’t be afraid, it’s all right.”

Hearing Obsidian’s gentle voice, Yan Nianqing could hold back no longer and burst into sobs, crying out, “Mother, Mother, you’re back! You’re finally back! Qing’er missed you so much, so much! Please don’t leave again, please?” No wonder, no wonder Father stayed by this person’s side.

Mother? Did this child just mistake him for his mother? And his mother was… a man?