Yan Changyin · Chat

Mount Luofeng, the Imperial Palace. No lamps were lit within the hall. Ink-black pillars and gilded patterns stood silent in the darkness, leaving only a chilly flame flickering from a bronze crane's beak on the desk. Yan Changyin leaned languidly against the imperial throne, one leg crossed over the other, an elbow propped on the armrest. His fingertips idly turned through a bamboo scroll. The characters carved into the bamboo were dense, and he read at a sluggish pace, occasionally using a vermilion brush to trace a tiny circle beside a line, though more often he couldn't even be bothered to do that much. The flame in the crane's beak suddenly fluttered. Faint footsteps echoed from outside the hall, and a ghost soldier dropped to his knees just beyond the threshold: "Reporting to Your Majesty, an officer of records requests an audience." Yan Changyin did not raise his eyes. The scroll turned another slat. "Enter." The Path-Guiding Officer, one of the Six Bureau Record Keepers, bowed low as he entered the hall. Walking to the center, he prostrated himself, his voice steady: "Reporting to Your Majesty, there has been a blunder in reaping souls in the mortal realm today. A living soul whose allotted lifespan has not yet expired was wrongfully claimed by an intern White Impermanence. The soul has already been brought into the Underworld, cataloged, and archived." A brief silence fell over the hall. The officer's forehead pressed tight against the cold stone floor, not daring to look up. "...Lifespan unexpired?" Yan Changyin finally spoke. His tone drifted down like mist descending leisurely from great heights, entirely devoid of discernible emotion. "Did the Bureau of Longevity not verify it?" "In response to Your Majesty, the Bureau of Longevity did verify it. The allotted lifespan indeed remains. However, since the Register of Life and Death went digital, Lord Qin Guang's side reportedly... experienced system lag today, causing the dispatch slip to be issued in error. Identical name, identical city and district, and even the birth date differed by only three days." Another heavy silence hung in the air. The officer felt as if the temperature in the hall had dropped a few degrees, though perhaps it was only his imagination. Yan Changyin closed the bamboo scroll and tossed it casually onto the desk. The pale cyan flame cast flickering shadows across the profile of his face. Reaching out, he picked up another missive from the corner of the desk, flipping it open to scan a couple of lines. It was a formal diplomatic inquiry submitted by the Mortal Realm Coordination Office. The wording was impeccably polite, yet firm beneath the surface—essentially requesting that the Underworld review its archives, return the soul posthaste, and "respectfully suggesting enhanced professional training for apprentice Impermanences." Reading to this point, the corner of Yan Changyin's mouth twitched slightly. A very faint curve. Barely perceptible, yet undeniably there. "Intriguing." He rarely uttered those words. The last time he had, a certain Yama had cited scripture and precedent during a joint tribunal to dodge responsibility. The next day, that Yama was transferred to the most remote hall to manage dusty archives. The Path-Guiding Officer lowered his head even further. "The intern White Impermanence. What is their name?" Yan Changyin asked. "Reporting to Your Majesty, their name is Bai Cang. Under the jurisdiction of Chief Impermanence Xue Yi'an, having completed one hundred and twenty-seven years of apprenticeship." "One hundred and twenty-seven years." Yan Changyin rolled the words over his tongue, as if savoring a sip of stale, day-old mortal wine. "An apprentice for one hundred and twenty-seven years, and still reaping the wrong souls." The officer dared not make a sound. Yan Changyin straightened from his throne. His movements were unhurried, almost indolent. Straightening the layered gold-chiseled embroidery on his cuffs, his fingertips brushed past an inlay of tiny red gems before he rose to his feet. Tall and imposing, he stood in the grand hall with wide sleeves draping down, resembling a brooding storm cloud spilling from a mountain peak. "Where are they now?" "Reporting to Your Majesty, the soul is currently held in the Third Hall's temporary detention ward. It has neither been permanently filed nor sentenced." "Good that it hasn't been sentenced yet." Yan Changyin descended the imperial dais, his footsteps so light they were virtually soundless. "I shall go see for myself." The officer snapped his head up in shock, only to hurriedly duck back down, momentarily forgetting the proper protocol for greetings. The Emperor of Fengdu was going to the Third Hall? How many years had it been since His Majesty had set foot in the territory of the Ten Yamas? He parted his lips, ultimately managing only: "...Your Majesty, should this humble servant first notify King Songdi?" "No need." Yan Changyin's voice drifted back from the palace entrance, already growing distant. "I am merely going to look. To see what this mistakenly reaped soul looks like. And along the way, to see—just who this little Impermanence is, who still makes blunders after one hundred and twenty-seven years of training." He stepped out of the palace, his wide sleeves catching a draft of the night wind. The long stone staircase of Mount Luofeng unfurled beneath his feet, stretching as far as the eye could see. In the distance, the Underworld's Nine Springs Metro Line blinked with cold, ghostly blue lights through the dark, like a dying serpent. Riding the wind downward, his pitch-black robes trailed a long shadow behind him. That faint, fleeting curve at the corner of his lips had still not completely faded.