“Mu Xueshi—if you utter a single word of submission, I will take you away from here.”
“You… are you the White Impermanence?” Chen Youzai asked with a bitter smile, gazing at the ancient figure clad in white before him.
The Third Prince did not understand what Mu Xueshi meant. His expression remained cold. “Submit—or not?”
“If I refuse, what then? You’ll still take me away.” Mu Xueshi sighed faintly. “A man’s fate is decreed by Heaven…”
“So you have finally come to your senses.”
The Third Prince bent and lifted the man from the ground—only to discover he weighed no more than a swallow in hand. After studying Mu Xueshi quietly for a moment longer, he turned and carried him toward the carriage.
Mu Xueshi cracked his eyes open to a sliver and murmured weakly, lips trembling, “Brother White… your underworld service is quite attentive. You don’t even make ghosts walk themselves… If I reincarnate, I still want to be Chen Youzai. I can’t bear to leave my mother… Brother White, please… I’ll have her burn you more paper money…”
The Third Prince caught not a single word clearly from the murmurs. But he was no longer in haste. There would be ample time in the future to make Mu Xueshi speak. Thinking thus, his grip tightened imperceptibly.
Another long and tangled dream followed.
Drifting between waking and sleep, Mu Xueshi could no longer distinguish reality from illusion. He dreamed he had found the silver coin once more, turning it over in his palm. Yet the coin grew larger and heavier, until it transformed into a colossal flying craft, rising slowly into the sky before plummeting toward him. He ran—but no matter how he fled, he could not escape its shadow. Darkness swallowed him as it crushed him beneath its weight.
“Ugh—!”
He drew a sharp breath and opened his eyes.
(The narrator humbly notes: henceforth this character shall uniformly be called Mu Xueshi. Every time I write Chen Youzai, I envision an ugly man and cannot immerse myself—sweat…)
The Third Prince was leaning over him, a faint, inscrutable smile playing upon his lips. He watched as Mu Xueshi’s long, dense lashes fluttered twice, then those crystalline eyes opened fully. The lively gaze swept the room before settling upon him in astonishment.
“Have you forgotten me?”
The teasing tone earned no attention. Mu Xueshi was busy surveying his surroundings, trying to comprehend his present state.
Carved lattice windows were draped with curtains embroidered in moonlit butterflies. Beneath them stood palace-woven screens. Ink paintings of antique elegance adorned the walls. At the center rose a grand rosewood desk, upon which rested inkstones and paper, beside a slender white jade vase exuding a faint fragrance that filled the chamber…
Mu Xueshi touched the silk brocade quilt covering him—smooth as water. Even the pillow beneath his head released a subtle, soothing scent. Turning slightly, he noticed a finely crafted small box within reach. He tried to extend his arm—only to realize the Third Prince still pressed him down.
Examining the man closely, Mu Xueshi at last recognized him as the “White Impermanence” who had summoned him from the pond’s edge. Lowering his gaze, he inspected his own body—not an infant’s. At least that of a youth. He raised his hand and studied it carefully; the small red mole upon his thumb remained.
So it was still his original body.
All signs suggested he was midway through reincarnation. This must be some designated chamber, awaiting judgment.
Thus did Mu Xueshi conclude.
Futile Devices Scans 
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