After a short flight through the gloom, the duo arrived at the location Xiao Yifeng had mapped out in his mind.
Ahead lay a desolate, ancient dock jutting out into the void. Moored alongside were several narrow ferry skiffs, bobbing silently on the black waters. The material of these vessels was unidentifiable—darker than charred bone, yet buoyant enough to float upon the River of Forgetfulness, a body of water notorious for drowning even a goose feather.
Hanging from the prow of each skiff was a solitary azure lantern, its ghostly light reminiscent of the one held by Meng Po. At the stern of each boat stood a figure shrouded entirely in tattered black robes, gripping a long bamboo pole. They stood motionless, emitting an aura of profound, icy death, like statues carved from the shadows themselves.
On the dock stood a weathered stone stele. Three crimson characters, seemingly written in fresh blood, cut into the rock: Yellow Spring Crossing.
Upon landing, Xiao Yifeng immediately recalled Xiao Bing. The beast was exhausted, and he allowed it to retreat into his body to recuperate. Just as he reached to collect the boundary stele of the Yellow Spring Crossing, a biting surge of sword Qi slashed through the air.
Mo Shuiyao had caught up.
She touched down lightly a few meters in front of him, a short dagger gleaming in her grip. Her porcelain face was drained of blood, her chest heaving with exertion, but her eyes were sharp, locking onto Xiao Yifeng with barely concealed hostility.
"Since Fellow Daoist Wuchen has already secured two steles," Mo Shuiyao began, her voice dripping with a sugary, dangerous sweetness, "would you be so kind as to leave this one for this humble girl?"
Though her words were polite, her expression was frost-bitten.
"If Fairy Mo has taken a fancy to it, then this stele is yours," Xiao Yifeng replied indifferently.
He had no desire to waste time bickering, nor did he wish to test his disguise against her full strength. Time was bleeding away, and the other pursuers—who now coveted Su Miaoqing’s Phoenix Source Blood—were closing in.
He grabbed Su Miaoqing’s wrist, pulling her toward the nearest skiff. He leaped aboard, his voice dropping to a commanding, gravelly tone. "Boatman. We wish to cross. Depart immediately."
The ferryman, a void of black cloth, slowly raised his head. Two points of green ghost-fire flickered where eyes should have been, scrutinizing Xiao Yifeng and Su Miaoqing.
After a tense silence, the hooded figure nodded, his voice sounding like two millstones grinding together. "Since the two of you hold the Reincarnation Stele... you are granted one passage. Sit firm."
The ferryman untied the rot-resistant rope and pushed the bamboo pole against the dock. The small boat drifted silently away from the shore, gliding over the ink-black water.
"Junior Wuchen! You stop right there! Leave that stele!"
A thunderous roar exploded from behind them. Wang Laoxie and his cohort had arrived. It was baffling what secret arts they had burned to catch up with such speed, but their desperation was palpable.
Seeing the newcomers, Mo Shuiyao wasted no time. She mimicked Xiao Yifeng’s earlier method, smearing her blood onto the stele to claim it, then vaulted onto a nearby skiff.
"Ferryman, set sail! Hurry!" she commanded, her voice shrill with urgency.
"Where do you think you're going? Stay!"
Two flying hooks, glowing with malicious green light, shot toward her from the shore. Mo Shuiyao had no room to dodge. She was forced to raise her dagger, blocking the blow with a jarring clang. She let out a muffled groan as the impact shuddered through her exhausted frame.
Fortunately, her ferryman had already pushed off.
As the skiff drifted a few meters from the dock, the magical hooks lost their momentum and plummeted toward the water. The moment they hovered over the River of Forgetfulness, an invisible, crushing gravity took hold. The artifacts were dragged down instantly, swallowed by the silent black depths.
Seeing their Dharma Treasures devoured, the remaining cultivators on the dock froze. No one dared to launch another attack over the river. To do so was to feed the abyss.
The group scrambled onto the dock. Seeing two boats already vanishing into the mist, they frantically jumped into the remaining empty skiffs, shouting for the ferrymen to move.
However, these black-robed figures did not obey. They slowly lifted their heads, speaking in a chilling unison that echoed over the water.
"Outsiders. You possess no Reincarnation Stele. To cross the River of Forgetfulness, a fare must be paid. Do you accept?"
"Go! Just go! I have spirit stones! I have gold!" Wang Laoxie yelled, his face twisted with anxiety. "I'll give you whatever you want, just move!"
Hearing an offer, Wang Laoxie’s ferryman slowly pushed the pole, drifting from the dock. Lingyun, seeing this, hastily agreed as well, and his boat began to move.
Liu Yue was about to shout his consent when Luo Yun, standing beside him, grabbed his arm. "Wait," Luo Yun asked sharply, staring at the hooded figure. "Ferryman, what exactly is the fare?"
The ferryman turned, his voice dry as dust. "One of the Seven Emotions or Six Desires. One of the Three Souls or Seven Spirits. Or... your most cherished memory."
The color drained from everyone’s faces.
Wang Laoxie and Lingyun, whose boats were already drifting into the current, turned ashen.
Lin Xiao, the demonic cultivator, narrowed his eyes. After a moment of heavy silence, he stepped onto a boat with a dark resolve. "Let's go."
Despite the horrific cost, they had no choice. To stay was to be trapped in this hell forever. One by one, they boarded, eyes flickering with calculation and dread.
The small fleet drifted toward the center of the river.
Xiao Yifeng’s boat, protected by the stele, glided smoothly without interruption. But the boats behind him suddenly lurched to a halt in the middle of the misty expanse.
The ferrymen stopped rowing. They turned mechanically to their passengers.
"Please pay the fare."
"Can't I pay you after we cross?" Wang Laoxie growled, clutching his weapon.
"No." The ferryman shook his head.
"And if I refuse?" Wang Laoxie’s voice dropped dangerously.
"If unpaid, the vessel does not proceed." The ferryman was unmoved, calm as a tombstone.
Wang Laoxie prepared to strike, intending to coerce the creature. But before he could move, a howl of pure, broken despair erupted from a nearby boat.
"I have already lost my path to the Great Dao! My cultivation is ruined! And now you want my soul? You want my memories?!"
It was Lingyun. The elder from the Righteous Sect stood trembling, his hair disheveled, his eyes bloodshot and wild. The loss of his Golden Core foundation had already unhinged him; this final extortion shattered his mind completely.
"What point is there in living?! Ah?!"
"Please pay the fare," the ferryman repeated, monotone and relentless.
"Go to hell! All of you, go to hell!"
Lingyun’s eyes flared with a vicious, suicidal light. He whipped his horsetail whisk, infusing it with every scrap of his remaining spiritual power, and lashed out at the ferryman.
SNAP!
The strike was clean. The black-robed ferryman was bisected at the waist. The upper torso toppled onto the deck with a dull thud.
"Hahahaha! Ghostly trickster! Trash!" Lingyun threw his head back, laughing maniacally. "You think I need you? Without you, I can cross this river myself!"
But his laughter was cut short.
On the deck, the severed, pale face of the ferryman did not grimace in pain. Instead, the lips curled up into a grotesque, relieved smile.
"Thank you... Fellow Daoist... for my release."
The ferryman’s body dissolved into ash. But his black robe did not vanish.
It floated into the air, the torn halves stitching themselves back together with invisible, spectral thread. Then, like a living shadow, it lunged at Lingyun.
"Ah! What is this?! Get off! Save me!"
Lingyun screamed, clawing at the fabric. But the robe was like a python, wrapping tighter and tighter, merging with his skin. The others watched in paralyzed horror as Lingyun’s struggles grew weaker. His terrified shrieks turned into muffled whimpers, and then... silence.
He stood up.
His posture was no longer hunched or frantic. He stood straight and wooden.
As if remembering a duty from a past life, the thing that was once Lingyun walked stiffly toward the discarded bamboo pole. He picked it up, thrust it into the black water, and with a practiced, fluid motion, began to row the boat back toward the starting dock.
He fell into line with the other ferrymen, indistinguishable from the monsters he had just slain.
A collective shiver ran down the spines of every cultivator present. Wang Laoxie, whose hand had been raised to strike his own ferryman, froze. Cold sweat drenched his back.
He slowly, carefully lowered his hand, forcing a trembling, ingratiating smile.
His ferryman let out a soft, almost imperceptible sigh—a sound of profound disappointment that made Wang Laoxie’s blood run cold.
He realized with terrifying clarity: If I had been a second faster... that would be me.
Silence fell over the river. No one dared to negotiate. Each person obediently made their exchange. Some surrendered their joy, becoming stone-faced. Others gave up memories, their eyes turning blank for a moment as precious faces faded from their minds.
Because of the delay, Xiao Yifeng’s boat had already neared the opposite bank.
Su Miaoqing looked back at the horrific scene, her heart pounding. "If we hadn't found the stele... would we have ended up like them?"
"Why did Lingyun become the boatman?" she asked, her voice hushed.
Xiao Yifeng stood at the prow, his silhouette sharp against the gloom. "It is the curse of the Yellow Springs. Legend says that he who kills the Ferryman becomes the Ferryman. He must ply these waters for a thousand years before he earns the chance to reincarnate... or until the next impatient soul kills him."
"That is... a cruel fate," Su Miaoqing whispered, watching the receding figure of Lingyun.
"Cruel, perhaps. But deserved," Xiao Yifeng said, his tone cool and detached. "He destroyed himself through greed. Had his Dao heart been firm, he would not have lashed out. Do not waste your pity on the dead."
Su Miaoqing nodded, turning her gaze to the approaching shore, forcing herself to focus.
From behind them, a melodic voice drifted across the water.
"To cross this river safely is all thanks to Fellow Daoist Wuchen! This humble girl is deeply grateful. I hope Fellow Daoist will continue to look after me on the road ahead!"
Mo Shuiyao stood at the bow of her boat, waving gracefully. Her tone was polite, even subservient, but Xiao Yifeng knew better. She was clinging to him like a viper, knowing he was the only one who held the map to this treacherous grave.