Debt of Love

"Rumble! Rumble! Rumble!" Within Zhou Yang's field of view, this whole world suddenly began to tremble and shake! Thunder-like roaring rose from every direction, exploding again and again beside his ears. He saw crack after crack winding and gliding through heaven and earth, in an instant tearing the whole world to fragments! Then, beside his ear, rose Ding Ling's grief-filled call: "Sir, sir..." "I'm here, I'm here..." he answered in his heart. But this answer could not be sensed by Ding Ling at all. —This world had, in that instant, cast him off and flung him far away. A chaotic torrent swept up his consciousness, carrying it back and back toward his own body. Then, in an instant, the Knife-Credit Ledger flipped open before his eyes to the second page, where the record of Ding Ling's personal history turned into character after character written in blood: "You have disturbed a 'Zhan'." "Retribution is no retribution; karma clings to karma." "The knife-credit is complete; all karma is cleared." Those rows of blood-written characters trembled, on the verge of settling fully onto the page. Just then, the last row of blood-written characters suddenly writhed and changed: "The knife-credit is complete; all karma is cleared." "The knife-credit is complete; all karma is cleared." "The knife-credit is complete; the karma will not so easily clear..." Those last eight blood-written characters stained the page, soaking that sheet of paper into a basin of blood! Beneath that basin of blood, a solemn, cold voice echoed without cease, pressing its question again and again: "Retribution is born; karma stirs. "You made this karma—no regret? "You made this karma—no regret? "...No regret?" And at each pressing of the question, a woman's voice answered firmly: "No regret." "No regret." "No regret!" That was Ding Ling's voice. "Hummm..." Darkness closed completely over Zhou Yang's vision. And in the darkness rose the sound of Ding Ling singing: "I ride a white horse, across the Three Passes... "I change into plain robes, back to the Central Plains... "I set down Xiliang—with none to govern it... "With all my heart I long only for... "...Wang Baochuan..." "Sir, you are my Wang Baochuan now..." Ding Ling left a sigh upon Zhou Yang's heart. Zhou Yang's eyes flew open, and he opened his mouth to call out Ding Ling's name—but the room around him, shrouded in darkness, and the smell of incense lingering within it, suddenly dragged him back to reality. He was back in Guancun. Beyond the window the sky was still dark. The stick of incense stuck in the clay stove had burned only a short way through the rope tied at the foot of the bed. By now, only a little over two hours had passed. Yet Zhou Yang felt he had already lived through, in Daliangzi Village, many of the most unforgettable things of an entire lifetime. He stared blankly for a while, then hurriedly took out the Knife-Credit Ledger to examine it, without even bothering to untie the rope binding his leg at the foot of the bed. The Knife-Credit Ledger was open to the second page. The entire page had been dyed red with blood. Whose blood was this? Zhou Yang dared not think too deeply about it; the moment he did, his heart ached. On the blood-colored page, two title characters in black ink hanging at the far right drew Zhou Yang's gaze at once: "Debt of Love." "Since the dawn of creation, who is the seed of love?" "Love arises from we know not where, and once it comes it deepens without end." "You have incurred a debt of love to the Opera Lady Ding Ling." "Let this note be the proof: cause and effect are linked, karmic retribution forms a chain. Any of the many stories that involve the 'Stage Flat,' the 'Opera Lady,' or 'opera' may draw you into a tangled debt of love and karma with the Opera Lady. "Ding Ling has left you a paper garment." After these lines of text, sure enough, there was pasted a paper garment the length of a finger. Zhou Yang had only to think it, and he could take the garment down from the Knife-Credit Ledger. But at this moment his mind was a muddle, and he had no attention to spare for the garment. He could not understand—at that time, he and Ding Ling had plainly made the opera ghost's ghost rhythm fall silent, so Ding Ling surely should have been able to escape with her life. So why had she in the end become the 'Opera Lady'? Zhou Yang still remembered how, in that great mansion on the edge of Daliangzi Village, they had looked together at the Zeng family's genealogy, and on the altar table there was enshrined a spirit tablet for the 'Opera Lady Ding Jiu.' Could Ding Ling and this Ding Jiu be the same one? Or was the Opera Lady originally not Ding Jiu, and it was only after this affair that Ding Ling became the Opera Lady? And were the Opera Lady and the opera ghost the same one? "They are not the same one." No sooner had this latter question surfaced in his mind than Zhou Yang at once had his answer: "The opera ghost was transformed from the last of the Zeng family, 'Zeng Guiyun'; the Opera Lady had already appeared before it. "What Zeng Guiyun dreamed of above all was to transform himself into the Opera Lady. "So the Opera Lady seems more like a role, a station—not fixed to any one person. "But this identity is clearly connected to the 'Zhan' as well." When Zhou Yang was flung out of Daliangzi Village, the Knife-Credit Ledger had said that he had disturbed a 'Zhan.' This Zhan must be connected to the Opera Lady. It may even be the Opera Lady herself. Then what, exactly, is a Zhan? Zhou Yang had read all sorts of idle books, and knew the saying that a ghost which dies becomes a Zhan. By that reckoning, could a Zhan be a higher order of ghost? Gui, ghost, Zhan... is that how the levels are divided? Between ghost and Zhan, are there yet more levels? Or was it that a Zhan did not refer to a higher level of ghost, but was a general term for a certain kind of ghost—Zhou Yang felt this guess unlikely, because the Knife-Credit Ledger had kept warning him with blood-written characters at the time, which was enough to show how terrifying a Zhan was. And if it were merely a ghost at work, it would not have provoked so great a reaction from the Knife-Credit Ledger. These thoughts leapt into Zhou Yang's mind one after another, leaving him no room to think of anything else. Even that heavy sorrow in his heart seemed to have faded a little. But when he saw Ding Ling's personal record appear at the end of the page, he still could not hold back a pang of bitterness: "Retribution body: Ding Ling (human form). "Right Thought: None. "Identity: None. "Abilities: Ghost Breath (Right Thought Lock, fifth layer). "Draft of Playing Gods and Painting Ghosts (Opening Door warding spirit)." She seemed to have already known that Zhou Yang could use merit to make rubbings of her personal abilities. So she had prepared this record early, deliberately leaving on it the two abilities Zhou Yang needed most. Using his merit, Zhou Yang could make rubbings of these two abilities. He gave a sigh, and his gaze finally fell upon the paper garment tucked in the book. The garment was not the gorgeous, exaggerated sort like an opera costume; it was a cross-collared Daoist-style cloak-robe. Zhou Yang reached out and pinched the paper garment pasted on the page, gave it a gentle tug, and the garment at once swelled out from the page, growing as it met the air until it was roughly as tall as Zhou Yang. He knew clearly that it was a garment made of paper. Yet this paper garment before his eyes, no matter how he looked at it, did not seem in the least like something made of paper—it was exactly like a garment made of ordinary cloth. On the inner side of the azurite-blue cloak-robe were small characters sewn in stitches. "May my Lord Zhou be blessed and shielded by gods and spirits. "May my Lord Zhou have peace and long life. "May my Lord Zhou stay with me, long, and long, and long." After each line of small characters there was a clumsy little smiling face. Zhou Yang looked at those clumsily embroidered smiling faces, and Ding Ling's face rose unbidden in his mind. This debt of love was too light. And yet too heavy. He did not care in the least that in the future he might again be dragged by some opera into a karmic entanglement with Ding Ling—he wished he could see Ding Ling again this very moment. But all of this, in the end, could not be done at once. Zhou Yang's eyes grew hot. Holding that cloak-robe, he sat there motionless until dawn. Knowing it could not be done in haste, he entrusted his lingering echo to the mournful wind.