Chapter 3: Journey to the Great Tang Dynasty

The sound of firecrackers echoed through the mountains, sending dust swirling into the sky. The adults arranged chopsticks, poured ritual wine, and knelt in prayer before the ancestral tomb, while the children kept their distance. The Lu family’s ancestral tomb was not large; on the contrary, this ancient grave, revered by the entire clan and always first in the Qingming Festival rites each year, had weathered the ravages of time until only a blurred tombstone and a mound of earth, now one with the mountain’s hues, remained. Wild grasses and thick clusters of iron wolf-fern grew all around. To a passerby, it would have been impossible to notice that at their feet lay a lonely grave from a thousand years ago.

But for the Lu family, offering the first sacrifice at this ancient tomb during Qingming was more than tradition—it was an ironclad rule, handed down generation after generation. No matter how wealthy Lu Guofu had become, he dared not forget it.

“Tingfang, look how shabby this tomb is—why don’t we fix it up? Even those villagers’ graves we saw on the way up the mountain look grander than ours. It’s so embarrassing.”

“Foolish brother, there’s no point comparing the size or grandeur of graves. If anyone does, it’s just those stuck in outdated superstitions. Our ancestral tomb is over a thousand years old—it’s practically a cultural relic. Besides, it’s a family rule that no one may touch it. Though I heard from my father that Grandpa is considering moving the tomb this year, but the time isn’t set yet.”

“Really? Isn’t moving a grave the same as grave robbing? I saw in a movie that tomb raiders are amazing—they open coffins and even destroy zombies. Tingfang, do you think there are zom—”

“Don’t talk nonsense in front of our ancestors!”

Lu Tingfang, startled, quickly clamped his hand over his younger cousin’s mouth. Although he was still a child himself, Lu Xin’s words were gravely disrespectful to their forebears. Especially since their grandfather, Lu Guoqiang, valued rules and propriety above all; some things simply couldn’t be said.

“Mmm, mmm… why are you covering my mouth…?”

Boom!

Just as Lu Xin struggled to free himself, a sudden clap of thunder split the sky. A fierce wind whipped from east to west, making everything tremble. Perhaps because the wind was so strong, the already gloomy, gray sky was swallowed by a thick, black cloud that seemed to come from nowhere. Lightning flashed and thunder rolled within it like silver serpents. The sky pressed so low that in that moment, heaven and earth seemed to lose all boundaries.

“Black clouds crush the city, threatening to destroy it… Guofu, looks like a torrential downpour is coming. This isn’t a good omen.”

“Indeed, it seems our ancestors are driving us off the mountain.”

Lu Guofu shook his head with a wry smile, about to place his incense on the tomb. The next instant, a piercing scream rang in his ear, followed by desperate cries for help.

“Grandpa, Grandpa, help me! Grandpa, save me…”

Turning toward the sound, he saw a strange force pulling at both Lu Xin and Lu Tingfang. It lifted the two children into the air, as if a pair of invisible hands were pushing them down the mountain. All the adults were terrified; Lu Guofu was first to give chase, but the rugged path slowed him down.

“How can the wind be so strong, and only around Xin and Tingfang? This defies all logic!”

Lu Guoqiang seemed to recall something from eighteen years ago—those eyes high above, that force that commanded the land. He was a scholar, a man of letters, his mind too active, prone to terrifying speculation. Though the weather was damp and cold, sweat streamed down his face.

The wind howled, whipping dead branches and leaves into the air, making it impossible to see or even open one’s eyes. Everyone gave chase toward where the children had disappeared, but in the blink of an eye, they were gone.

“Where are they? Where are they? Secretary Yan, where did they go?”

Lu Guofu fell to his knees at the last spot his grandson had stood, screaming in anguish, all dignity as a chairman forgotten. Before him, a dense patch of iron wolf-fern, some ferns as tall as a man’s waist. Lu Guofu was truly frantic; Lu Xin was his only grandson, as precious as Lu Tingfang—he could never bear to discipline them harshly, let alone lose them before his very eyes.

No matter how successful a businessman, before his grandchildren, Lu Guofu was just another ordinary old man.

“Chairman, please don’t worry. We will find them.”

“Call—quick, call the police, the fire brigade, have them send a rescue team immediately. And contact Xiaoyong, tell him to come back at once.”

With that, Lu Guofu rose to look for Lu Guoqiang, who stood transfixed at the edge of a thicket, dazed.

“Brother, what are you waiting for? Xin is missing, and so is Tingfang!”

“No, this is not a force of nature—not at all. The stars shift, seas turn into fields… this power, this power…”

Suddenly, Lu Guoqiang bent down and parted the grass, muttering to himself. The others gathered round and found an old, dry well. The discovery left everyone stunned.

Though Mount Dianlong was not high, the peak still stood at a hundred meters. Even in ancient times, it would have been impossible to dig a well here, for there was no water. To find one in such a place was not just illogical—it was eerie.

“Guofu, look at this.”

Lu Guoqiang picked up something from the well’s edge, his dazed expression clearing a little. In his hand was a black-and-yellow scrap, like a half-burned piece of paper, still smoldering with sparks.

“It must be some joss paper that blew over here in the wind—though to find a dry well here is odd. Could Xin and Tingfang have fallen in?”

Lu Guofu’s heart leapt; if the children had only fallen into the well and not down the mountainside, there was great hope. But as he moved to investigate, Lu Guoqiang held him back.

“That’s not joss paper, but a kind of talisman—see the unburned markings? And it didn’t blow here from the tomb, but…”

He pointed to the mouth of the well, his expression troubled. Deep inside, ashes still smoked as if something had been burned there recently. But peering in, the well was pitch black—no sign of anyone, not even a sound. After a long while, the two brothers exchanged a silent, complicated look—one that mingled fear and worry.

For the illustrious Lu family, this year’s Qingming Festival had turned into a disaster…

In the year 626, after the wars that ended the Sui dynasty, Emperor Gaozu of Tang sent Li Shimin to eliminate rebel forces and local warlords, finally uniting the land. On June 4 of the ninth year of Wude (July 2, 626), Prince Qin, Li Shimin, orchestrated the Xuanwu Gate coup, personally shooting the Crown Prince Li Jiancheng and removing Prince Qi, Li Yuanji. The following year, Emperor Gaozu abdicated and passed the throne to Li Shimin, beginning the Zhenguan era; thus, Emperor Taizong unified the Central Plains.

Yet after years of turmoil, the land was devastated, resources scarce, and the people filled with dread. The new Tang dynasty counted less than two million households. In such an age of chaos, yin and yang blurred, monsters and demons abounded. From high ministers to commoners, all feared ghosts and gods, unable to find peace. Thus, among the people, there appeared men and women dressed in white, with the Taiji symbol embroidered on their backs. Roaming city and countryside, they healed the sick and drove out evil spirits, wielding incredible powers, and were revered by the people as yin-yang masters.

Soon after, Emperor Taizong decreed the eradication of supernatural forces, and the court established a secret institution beyond the Six Ministries, called the Temple of Yin and Yang. It was tasked with handling cases of ghosts, gods, demons, and monsters, to calm the populace, stabilize hearts, and secure the dynasty.

In the spring of the first year of Zhenguan, in the Southern Jiangnan Circuit, under the jurisdiction of Yuezhou, in a remote fishing village, Lu Xin and Lu Tingfang awoke from unconsciousness. The sky was dark, fine rain falling. Supporting themselves on a well, they stood up slowly, taking in their surroundings—a desolate place, broken walls everywhere, as if a battle had just been fought. Above the well was a trellis, but few leaves remained.

Lu Xin looked down at the muddy, wet earth and frowned.

“Tingfang, where are we? Even the roads aren’t paved—my new shoes and clothes are ruined.”

He kicked the well angrily. Lu Tingfang scanned the area, silent for a long time before speaking.

“Xin, do you remember what happened before we lost consciousness?”

“Before we fainted?” Lu Xin rubbed the back of his head, thinking, then suddenly exclaimed, “I remember a huge gust of wind, I was lifted up, I shouted for Grandpa to save me, and then… nothing.”

“It was the same for me—we were both swept into the air. Given where we were, we should have fallen down the mountain. But look—this is clearly a village, and we’re not hurt. And from the look of things, no one rescued us.”

Tingfang was older, and exceptionally clever; in a moment, he had thought through many things. He tried to speak calmly, but his voice trembled, and even his fingers shook.

“Tingfang, you… you don’t mean we’re dead, do you? No, we must be dreaming! Where’s Grandpa? I want Grandpa…!”

Suddenly terrified, and shivering in the rain, Lu Xin curled into himself. Tingfang could only hold him, about to offer comfort, when the scent of burning paper drifted through the air. Turning, he saw an old man where there had been none before, tossing burning spirit money into the well.