Chapter 307: The Master Ledger Needs Distinguishable Names

Wang Cheng'an and Xu Erxiao came in after.

Wang Cheng'an held a wooden tablet in his arms.

“All the tablets on the stone wall were preserved.”

“About half can be matched to their original names and destinations, the other half only have fragments left.”

“The earliest batch among them were those who died on the mountain before the North Mountain Pass was closed.”

The man said:

“Now you understand.”

“It’s not to guard the gate for me.”

“It’s to make the trip for them.”

Lu Yuan looked toward the well bottom.

“If we agree, we will not belong to the master name.”

“That’s fine.”

“Each person keeps their original name.”

“That’s fine.”

“Once you go into the well, no matter who you see, no matter who calls you, you will not forcibly claim any fragmented name as kin.”

The man fell silent for a moment.

“That’s fine.”

“After you come out, the well must be sealed, and the Guardian Mountain Discussion Altar shall not establish any more public names.”

“That’s impossible.”

The man’s voice grew cold.

“If the well is sealed, the dead will have nowhere to go.”

“If the well remains open, the living will forever be used by you to fill it.”

Song Qinghe said:

“You may keep the well, but not the gate.”

“The well is a place of memory, not a thoroughfare.”

“Set a Nameless Register beside the well; whoever finds a fragmented name writes it down.”

“No one may be pulled into the well, and no offerings may be used to open it.”

Lin Zhaoxuan added:

“It will be jointly guarded by each village, each Daoist temple, and each family.”

“Not monopolized by a single altar mouth.”

Zhou Heng said:

“Only once a year light the sacrificial lamp, let the fragmented names be heard.”

“After the lamp goes out, the well remains sealed.”

The man looked at them as if weighing something.

Lu Yuan finally said:

“If you don’t agree, we’ll destroy the well now.”

“You don’t control whether the fragments inside will disperse or not.”

The man lowered his eyes.

A long time passed before he said:

“Alright.”

“But you must leave behind six guiding characters.”

“A guiding line is not a combined name.”

Lu Yuan asked:

“How to leave them?”

The man picked up a blank register.

“Six people each write a character; the six characters form one line.”

“The well bottom will only recognize that line, not the master name.”

“If that line breaks, the well will close.”

Wang Cheng'an frowned.

“Six characters again.”

“Form may be similar, rules not necessarily the same.” Lin Zhaoxuan said, “It depends on who explains it and who keeps the register.”

The man said:

“The register does not belong to me.”

He handed the blank register to Lu Yuan.

“Give it to you.”

Lu Yuan did not accept it.

“To whom do we give it?”

“To all who are willing to record the fragments.”

“No fixed owner?”

“No.”

“No fixed altar site?”

“No.”

“No single master name?”

“No.”

Only then did Lu Yuan take the register.

The book felt cold in his hands, yet six blank slots slowly appeared on the cover.

“Each write one character.”

He first wrote “Lu.”

Wang Cheng'an wrote “Suan.”

Xu Erxiao wrote “Lu.”

Lin Zhaoxuan wrote “Zhao.”

Zhou Heng wrote “Ren.”

Song Qinghe finally wrote “Gui.”

The six characters formed:

“Lu Suan Lu Zhao Ren Gui.”

Everyone stared at that line.

Xu Erxiao scratched his head.

“Why does it sound like a sentence that’s not finished?”

Wang Cheng'an said:

“Precisely because it’s unfinished, it’s not the master name.”

Song Qinghe murmured:

“Brother Lu uses the road to reflect people, people will ultimately return.”

The six characters in the register glowed faintly.

Voices rose again from the well bottom.

This time they did not blend into one indistinct mass.

The first voice to come was a boy’s:

“My name is Little Six.”

The second was an old woman:

“My surname is Sun.”

The third voice was very far:

“I came from South Slope.”

The fourth voice was weak:

“I didn’t go into the hamlet.”

The fifth voice drifted up like it came from underwater:

“I was still carrying a lamp.”

The sixth voice did not appear for a long time.

Silence filled the well.

The gatekeeper stared at the well mouth.

“We’re missing one.”

Lu Yuan asked:

“Missing what?”

“The six-character guiding line means there should be six primary fragmented names at the well bottom.”

“Right now there are only five.”

Wang Cheng'an immediately flipped open the wooden tablet he had just taken.

“Could it already be on the stone wall?”

“It’s not there.” Song Qinghe said, “The sixth voice is being suppressed by something.”

Lu Yuan looked at Gu Changgeng’s bone finger.

The bone finger was slightly warm.

Its fingertip pointed at the well bottom.

He walked to the well edge and looked down.

The black water was still.

But pressed against the deep well wall was an inverted wooden tablet.

On the tablet was an extremely fine carved scratch, like an unfinished character of “Gu.”

Gu Changgeng’s leftover name was not among the shadowed figures in the well.

Someone had deliberately pressed his fragment to the very bottom.

Lin Zhaoxuan said in a low voice:

“If Gu Changgeng was the last person who truly opposed the master name, he might have suppressed his own fragment so that later people could not use his name to reopen the gate.”

“He was waiting for someone to break the door first, then come find him.”

Lu Yuan slipped the bone finger into the well.

Black water immediately rose, crawling up along the joints.

The five voices at the well bottom shouted at once:

“Don’t!”

The bone finger was suddenly yanked by a force.

The inverted wooden tablet on the well wall flipped over.

It no longer bore the partial “Gu” scratch, but a whole name:

“Gu Changgeng.”

Under the name was another line of small characters:

“My original name has returned, my unfinished wish remains.”

Lu Yuan read that line.

“What is the unfinished wish?”

A clear man’s voice came from the well bottom.

“It’s not to be remembered.”

“It’s to let people no longer be forced to be remembered.”

This voice was unlike the earlier fragments; it was steady, lucid, carrying a fatigue like old paper.

The gatekeeper’s face changed abruptly.

“Gu Changgeng!”

“Weren’t you already entered in the register?”

The voice from the well said:

“Being entered in the register does not mean being returned as a person.”

“You wrote me into the main altar, then erased me from the main altar.”

“I do not owe your gate.”

“I only owe the people in the well a lamp.”

Song Qinghe’s green lamp suddenly rose on its own and floated toward the well mouth.

Lu Yuan reached out and caught it.

The wick was still unlit.

Gu Changgeng said:

“There is no fire in the lamp.”

“Because the fire is in the gatekeeper’s hand.”

Lu Yuan turned to the gatekeeper.

“Where is the fire?”

The man did not move.

Song Qinghe watched his sleeve.

“There is a spark on him.”

Slowly the gatekeeper raised his hand.

In his palm, without anyone knowing when it had appeared, sat a tiny glowing ember, vivid red.

Though small, it made the cracks on his face even more obvious.

“This is the altar’s ancestral fire.”

“If the ancestral fire goes out, all old gates will perish.”

“That’s exactly what you refuse to hand over.” Lu Yuan said.

“If the fire dies, who will light the way?”

“People can light their own lamps.”

“If no one lights them?”

“Then let those who come later light them.”

The gatekeeper clenched the ember.

“You always talk about people who come later.”

“But those who came later come and then leave.”

“Those who can persist in staying on the mountain are us.”

“So you treat staying as authority.”

The man stared at the ember.

“I entered the discussion altar at sixteen; I have not descended the mountain in forty years.”

“I have seen snow bury the living, epidemics swallow villages, refugees fight for half a piece of bread.”

“I have seen nameless children die beyond the wall, and I have seen renamed people seize the lands of the original owners.”

“Do you think I enjoy making rules?”

“I only know no one will willingly keep watch over others.”

Lu Yuan said:

“You are not wrong.”

The gatekeeper affirmed.

“In chaotic times, people fight, forget, and fear.”

“That is why registers, contracts, and witnesses exist.”

“But what you have done does not make people keep each other.”

“It first assumes everyone will err, and gives you the knife to decide for all.”

“Hold a knife long enough and you forget you are human too.”

The ember in the gatekeeper’s palm flickered slightly.

The six fragmented names at the well bottom spoke again.

This time, five voices did not cry out.

They simply recited the last thing each of them could remember.

“My name is Little Six, my mother is on South Slope.”

“My surname is Sun, our household has a blue-and-white bowl.”

“I came from South Slope, my shoes are made of blue cloth.”

“I didn’t enter the hamlet, I hold a firewood knife.”

“I was still carrying a lamp, the lamp was given to a child.”

Their voices grew clearer, piece by piece.

Gu Changgeng’s voice rang last:

“My name is Gu Changgeng.”

“I once opened a door.”

“Later I discovered if a door remains open too long, people assume everyone must walk through it.”

“So I left this finger bone, waiting for someone who refuses to enter.”

Lu Yuan placed the green lamp at the well’s edge.

“Now they’ve come.”

The ember in the gatekeeper’s hand suddenly flew up and dropped into the lamp bowl.

The bronze wick ignited instantly.

The flame was small, then split into six threads.

Each thread shone toward one of the voices at the well bottom.

The black water began to sink.

Dense names on the well wall surfaced like fish rising from water, one after another. The fragmented names were not fully intact, but each now carried a slightly more distinguishable detail.

Little Six’s mother.

Sun family’s blue-and-white bowl.

Blue cloth shoes from South Slope.

The firewood knife.

The lamp.

And Gu Changgeng’s Taoist name.

The gatekeeper stared at his empty palm, as if he had suddenly lost his support.

“Once the ancestral fire is handed over, the altar will disperse.”

“What then becomes of those people?”

Song Qinghe said:

“Keep the well, disperse the altar.”

“Keep the memories, but do not keep people imprisoned by them.”

Lin Zhaoxuan took a blank wooden tablet off the stone room wall and handed it to him.

“If you truly want to guard the mountain, go tell every hamlet.”

“Explain the old rules, line by line.”

“Which to keep, which to discard—let each village decide together.”

Zhou Heng said:

“It’s not that you can’t stay.”

“It’s that you must not continue to call yourselves the nameless and speak for everyone.”

The gatekeeper gripped the wooden tablet.

Two characters instantly appeared on its face:

“Advisor.”

He looked at the words and forced a bitter smile.

“Even the title must be handed to me.”

Lu Yuan said:

“You can change the title.”

“But first, stop hiding behind ‘nameless’.”

“Those who have names know they can be wrong.”

The man was silent a long time before he reached into his waist and took off an old plaque.

The plaque’s back was severely worn; only one character remained legible—“Shen.”

He flipped the wooden tablet over and scraped off the two characters “Advisor” with his fingernail, then rewrote:

“Shen Yanshan.”

“My name is Shen Yanshan.”

As he spoke, the last faceless wooden figure on the stone platform collapsed.

The twelve altar lamps of the Guardian Mountain Discussion Altar went out completely.

The black stone door did not shatter.

It simply receded to either side and became an ordinary crack in the cliff wall.

A downhill footpath appeared in the gap.

Along the path stood many new wooden tablets.

Each tablet listed a single person’s name, with the back left blank.

Shen Yanshan walked to the stone platform and pushed the first blank wooden tablet into the snow.

“From now on anyone who wishes to leave a name will write it themselves.”

“Those who don’t want to write, others must not force it.”

“If a name is incomplete, let it remain incomplete.”

“If someone has no destination, write ‘no place’.”

He looked at Lu Yuan.

“Is that enough?”

Lu Yuan said:

“Do it for three years, then see if it’s enough.”

Shen Yanshan nodded.

“Where will you go?”

Lu Yuan looked deeper into the North Mountain.

After the earlier commotion, dawn whitened the sky. The northern ridges caught a thin red line of morning light, as if something were waking after the snow.

Wang Cheng'an put Qi Shousuan’s black bead into a cloth pouch.

“Qi Shousuan said the abacus still holds old accounts.”

“The discussion altar is only the master ledger; guarding the mountain rules are only the outer gate.”

“The real tail of the account might be in the North Ridge.”

Zhou Heng fished a letter wrapped in oilcloth from under the stone platform.

There was no name on the envelope, only a familiar ink seal:

“Gu Changgeng’s Legacy.”

Lu Yuan opened the envelope.

Inside was only half a page.

It read:

“The master altar is not in one place.”

“The ledger of name transfers begins at the pass, forms at the righteous well, and settles in the North Ridge.”

“In the North Ridge there is an unmarked grave; beneath it lies the first master ledger.”

“The master ledger does not record the dead.”

“It records those erased from living registers.”

“To break the corrupt rules, you cannot only destroy gates.”

“You must find the hand left by the person who removed the names.”

The letter bore no signature, only a date:

Republic Year 16, third day of the twelfth lunar month.

Lu Yuan folded the note.

“An unmarked grave in the North Ridge.”

Lin Zhaoxuan said:

“The hand left by the eraser may be the one who wrote the entries.”

Wang Cheng'an said:

“Or it may be another hand bone.”

Xu Erxiao looked at the collapsed altar.

“How many more hands will we need to find?”

Song Qinghe carried the lamp to the well edge.

The green lamp’s six threads of flame had recombined into one, but a small black ember now rested on the wick.

She studied it for a moment.

“It’s not a bone.”

“It’s a palm impression.”

“Someone pressed a palm impression onto the master ledger to erase a batch of names.”

Zhou Heng took the letter.

“Gu Changgeng said ‘the hand left behind’ might be the palm seal.”

“To find the master ledger, we must first find that palm impression.”

Lu Yuan glanced at a wooden tablet still half hanging on the cliff wall.

On the back of one of the tablets, words suddenly appeared on their own:

“North Ridge unmarked grave, opens once every three days.”

“The next opening is today.”

The sky was fully bright now.

A bird called from a distant mountain mouth.

Shen Yanshan read the line; his face shifted.

“Today we cannot go.”

“Why?”

“The unmarked grave only opens for half an hour each time.”

“After half an hour, anyone inside who has not taken the master ledger will be buried along with their name.”

Xu Erxiao said:

“Then hurry.”

Shen Yanshan shook his head.

“You cannot go now.”

“Why?”

“Because the master altar was just shattered, the old rules scattered through the mountain; the North Ridge will already have heard.”

“Heard by whom?”

Shen Yanshan looked north.

“By the person who deleted names.”

“Is he still alive?”

“I don’t know.”

“But if the master ledger still exists there, his palm impression will still be there.”

“As long as the handprint exists, the ledger will not recognize you.”

Lu Yuan asked:

“How can we make the master ledger recognize us?”

Shen Yanshan looked at the empty abacus frame in Wang Cheng'an’s hand, then at the bronze lamp and the two halves of the gate seal.

“You need an entry that does not belong to the old accounts.”

“You need a person who was never transferred, and will not be returned to the public ledger.”

Xu Erxiao frowned.

“Aren’t the six of us unwilling?”

“You have already been written into the old accounts.”

Shen Yanshan said:

“Only someone never entered in a register can make the first new mark in the master ledger.”

Wang Cheng'an suddenly remembered someone.

“Meng An.”

“He guarded the righteous well’s duplicate register but was never written into the master altar.”

“He is a witness, he tallied names, but he wasn’t transferred.”

Lu Yuan nodded.

“Call Meng An.”

Shen Yanshan said:

“Ma Family Gully is too far, with the grave opening every three days there’s less than two hours left.”

“He can’t make it in time.”

“Then don’t wait for him.”

Xu Erxiao looked at Lu Yuan.

“Who will write the first mark?”

Lu Yuan did not answer.

He stared at the broken saber in his hand.

On the inner side of the hilt, the black ash remaining on the blade had already dispersed, but a very fine line of carved characters had appeared:

“Lu Yuan, orphan of the pharmacy, not entered in the original register.”

He stared at that line for a long time.

“I will.”

Everyone looked toward him at once.

Lu Yuan said:

“I wandered towns with my master since I was a child; later the pharmacy burned, and my master died on the inner side of the pass. My name never entered any formal register; the pharmacy’s old accounts burned.”

“I always thought I had a name, only no evidence.”

“Now it seems I’m the one who was not entered.”

Lin Zhaoxuan said:

“If you put the first mark in the master ledger, the old accounts may use your name to reopen the gate.”

“Then let them come.”

Lu Yuan sheathed the broken saber.

“Whether the gate opens is not up to it.”

Song Qinghe looked at him.

“If the master ledger requires you to write a collective six-name entry?”

“I’ll write six names.”

“If it refuses to accept them?”

“Let it not accept them.”

“If it tries to keep you?”

Lu Yuan looked toward the North Ridge.

“Then we’ll see if it can keep someone who refuses to be combined.”

They packed up.

Wang Cheng'an carried the empty abacus frame on his back, splitting the remaining abacus beads into six packets. One packet per person; nobody would carry the whole count for anyone else anymore.

Shen Yanshan did not walk with them; he stayed on the stone platform to dismantle the altar.

Before leaving, he handed Lu Yuan an old sheepskin coat.

“You’ll need this on the North Ridge windblown pass.”

“Aren’t you coming?”

“I must stay and dismantle the altar properly.”

“Twelve wooden figures, old accounts, fragments—all need separate registration.”

“If I go, no one will be able to sort this within three years.”

Lu Yuan took the sheepskin coat.

“Remember, stop deciding for other people what must be recorded.”

Shen Yanshan said:

“I know.”

“And one more thing.”

Lu Yuan turned back.

“If after three years the altar is rebuilt, don’t wait for us to return.”

Shen Yanshan looked at him.

“I will have everyone break it down first.”

The six walked north along the cliffside path.

After a distance, Lu Yuan looked back once.

Shen Yanshan stood alone on the stone platform; no wooden figures, no black gate—only a small green lamp.

He was turning the scattered wooden tablets face down, reporting one name each time.

His voice was slow, and he no longer read numbers.

In the first watch the mountain wind was mild.

In the second watch the snow began to fall heavier.

By the third watch, the North Ridge appeared.

The North Ridge was higher than expected.

At the foot spread a frozen riverbed, embedded with black stones. The stones formed winding lines that looked from a distance like someone had written on the ice with a finger.

Lu Yuan crouched to inspect.

“People stepped these out.”

Zhou Heng said:

“It’s not a single road.”

“Many people came from different directions and all converged in the river’s middle.”

Wang Cheng'an placed a white bead on the ice.

The bead rolled north by itself, stopping only by a stone carved with the character “A.”

Xu Erxiao used his sword tip to brush the snow off the stone.

“A, B, C, D…”

The stones were covered in old batch numbers.

“Not names, but batch numbers.”

Lin Zhaoxuan said:

“The unmarked grave in the North Ridge receives people not household by household.”

“But by batches.”

Song Qinghe looked into the ice.

“Beneath each number there is a shadow.”

Indeed, black shapes floated under the ice.

They looked like people submerged, in varying poses—some curled, some reaching up, some carrying bundles—but all their faces pointed north.

Lu Yuan lowered the green lamp.

A shadow suddenly opened its eyes.

The ice cracked.

Zhou Heng pulled Song Qinghe back.

Half a face rose from the ice, and the mouth spat two words:

“Open the gate.”

A second shadow rose:

“Report the count.”

A third:

“Leave six.”

A fourth:

“Nameless.”

Xu Erxiao cursed:

“Qi Shousuan’s dirty accounting isn’t finished!”

Wang Cheng'an threw the six packets of abacus beads at the ice at once.

“Don’t let them tally!”

The beads landed by different numbered stones, and the black shadows under the ice immediately descended into muddled chaos.

Lu Yuan ran along the icy river toward the north.

At the river’s end stood a stone bridge.

The bridge had no deck, only sixteen stone pillars spanning across the riverbed. Each pillar had a handprint carved on it, palm up.

Gu Changgeng’s bronze plaque warmed slightly.

Song Qinghe glanced.

“These handprints weren’t pressed on.”

“They are hands cut off and pressed into the stone one by one.”

Lin Zhaoxuan counted.

“Sixteen pillars, sixteen hands.”

Zhou Heng walked to the first pillar.

“The earliest Guardian Mountain Discussion Altar wasn’t only twelve members.”

“There were four path-openers.”

A stone slab hidden at the pillar’s base recorded four names.

“Hui Ma Chuan.”

“Gu Changgeng.”

“Shen Yanshan.”

“And…”

The fourth name had been carved away.

Only the final character “Han” remained.

Lu Yuan touched the gouge.

“This is not deletion.”

“This is a living person erasing themselves.”

A bell suddenly rang across from the bridge.

The sound came from above the river.

A black sedan chair hovered at the bridge’s far end, its four corners draped in white cloth. There were no bearers, and the curtain was thrown open by wind. Inside sat a woman in a red robe.

Her face was pale; her hair was put up in an old-fashioned bun. She held a cinnabar seal in her hand.

She saw Lu Yuan and the others and smiled lightly.

“The North Ridge does not accept stray visitors.”

“Who told you to come?”

“Mr. Han.”

Lu Yuan asked:

“Who is Mr. Han?”

The woman didn’t answer. She pressed the cinnabar seal against the chair rail.

“Report batch.”

Wang Cheng'an said:

“No batch number.”

Her eyes darkened.

“No-batch people, reset to zero.”

She gave a wave.

At once, the sixteen handprints on the bridge stirred and became sixteen skeletal hands, each grabbing the six people’s shadows.

Lu Yuan had been ready; he wedged his broken saber in a bridge crack.

“Stand on your shadow.”

Xu Erxiao, Wang Cheng'an, Lin Zhaoxuan, Zhou Heng, and Song Qinghe each placed one abacus bead beneath their feet.

The six beads shone in different hues.

The skeletal hands reached, but each was repelled by its corresponding light.

The woman in the chair’s expression changed.

“Who taught you to separate your shadows?”

“No one taught us.” Lu Yuan said, “You forced it out of us.”

He swung the saber; the old soot on its blade shot out, becoming a black line that separated the woman from the cinnabar seal.

Her sleeve fluttered and frost flowers formed on the line.

Zhou Heng tossed a copper coin.

The coin struck the frost and split it into two halves.

He grunted; his wrist tingled from the shock.

“She’s not a person.”

“She is the bridge’s sealing imprint.” Lin Zhaoxuan said.

“The red robe is the old batch flag.”

“Each batch that enters the mountain is stamped once by her.”

Song Qinghe glanced at the seal in the woman’s hand.

The seal’s base was not characters but a vertically drawn eye.

“She doesn’t stamp a pass.”

“She stamps a containment.”

Wang Cheng'an had already started counting beads.

“This seal stamped three hundred ninety-eight batches.”

“At least six people per batch.”

“Those contained were all sent to the unmarked grave.”

When the woman heard the words “unmarked grave,” she gave a sharp laugh.

“The unmarked have no name.”

“The nameless feel no pain.”

“They no longer have to be forgotten by the world.”

“Because they themselves no longer exist.”

Faces rose in rows from the darkness within the sedan.

Some young, some old, some only a pair of eyes.

They all looked at Lu Yuan.

“Enter the sedan.”

“The sedan will take you to the grave.”

“Enter and you will see everyone.”

Xu Erxiao whispered:

“She’s tricking people again by pretending reunion.”

Lu Yuan stared at the back of the sedan.

The chair had no shadow.

But the faces behind the curtain all had shadows.

The shadows were drawing in one by one toward the containment seal in the woman’s hand.

“The woman herself is also an imprint’s shadow.”

“She is not the bridge keeper.”

“She is the imprint-spirit of the containment seal.”

Lu Yuan told Wang Cheng'an:

“Charge it to her account.”

“How?”

“Count how many people she sealed.”

Wang Cheng'an immediately flicked an abacus bead toward the containment seal.

The bead struck the cinnabar; a string of numbers appeared behind the woman.

One, two, three, four...

The numbers flowed like running water.

Three hundred ninety-eight batches.

Two thousand four hundred thirty-seven people.

There were duplicate names.

Actual tally: one thousand seven hundred ninety-two people.

Of those six hundred fifteen were split into shadows.

Four hundred thirty-two left only as fragmented names.

Seven hundred forty-five unaccounted for.

Xu Erxiao’s eyes reddened.

“How many people have you harmed?”

The imprint spirit’s laugh was gone.

Wang Cheng'an continued to count beads.

With each person counted, a face behind the curtain lost one count.

Those faces were not dispersed; their features gradually reformed.

A little girl stepped out from the darkness and leaned on the chair rail.

“My name is Ah Zhi.”

“My mother said we would eat hot tofu beyond the pass.”

“But I never got any.”

When she finished, the shadow on her face detached and walked south along the bridge.

An old man then said:

“My surname is Zhao, my home is South Hetao.”

“I have a dog with one white ear.”

“I didn’t cross the bridge.”

His shadow also left.

The imprint spirit tried to grab them, but its palm passed through the shadows.

“You can’t leave!”

“Who will recognize you without a seal?”

Lu Yuan stepped over the first stone pillar.

“They recognize themselves.”

“Someone who remembers a dog is enough proof they once lived.”

“Someone who remembers a piece of tofu is enough proof she went beyond the pass.”

The imprint spirit slammed the cinnabar seal onto the bridge surface.

The entire bridge flooded with red.

The sixteen skeletal hands tightened and dragged the six shadows toward the gaps under the bridge.

Wang Cheng'an grit his teeth.

“It’s trying to stamp us with the containment seal too!”

Lu Yuan looked up into the air above the bridge.

“Song Qinghe, give me the lamp.”

Without hesitation Song Qinghe threw the bronze lamp to him.

Lu Yuan caught the green lamp, turned, and shone the lamp’s flame at the six people’s feet.

Each shadow revealed the place it came from under the light.

Lu Yuan’s shadow connected to a small pharmacy.

Wang Cheng'an’s shadow connected to an old house in the Wang family hamlet.

Xu Erxiao’s shadow connected to a western hamlet graveyard.

Lin Zhaoxuan’s and Zhou Heng’s shadows connected to a temple within the pass.

Song Qinghe’s shadow connected to a mountain road where refugees were escorted.

Each shadow was not black but formed from countless tiny memories.

The woman pressed the cinnabar seal down; just as it touched the six shadows, it was repelled by the six originating paths.

The imprint spirit howled.

Lu Yuan set the green lamp in the center of the bridge and split the saber toward the sedan.

The sedan cracked in half down the middle.

The faces inside rose one by one, stepped over the rail, and walked back to their own origins.

Only the little girl Ah Zhi remained.

She had no shadow.

Song Qinghe reached out and took her.

“What do you still remember?”

The girl shook her head.

“I don’t know my mother’s name.”

“I only remember she had a needle-hole on her hand.”

Song Qinghe offered her own hand.

She bore the faint scorch scars left from practicing the lamp.

“Then remember my lamp for now.”

Ah Zhi touched the lamp rim.

A green wisp of flame split off and settled on her.

A small shadow slowly formed under her feet.

The shadow was tiny, but it held a small dog with one white ear.

The little girl glanced north and then walked gently into the snowlight.

The imprint spirit’s body began to collapse.

The cinnabar seal fell and split in two.

The eye in its base closed.

The sedan, white cloth, and woman melted into slushy water and flowed through the bridge gaps.

The sixteen stone pillars returned to normal.

The fourth carved-away name reappeared with one more stroke.

“Han...”

Only a surname remained.

Lu Yuan walked to the bridge’s end.

“Mr. Han.”

No answer lay in the snow.

But on the opposite cliff face a stone door had appeared.

Beside it stood a new plaque:

“Unmarked Grave, opens today.”

Beneath it another line was carved:

“Six enter, one leaves.”

Xu Erxiao read and cursed:

“Another merging!”

Wang Cheng'an said:

“It’s not merging.”

“It’s saying six enter, one comes out.”

Lin Zhaoxuan looked above the mountain door.

“This is grave regulation.”

“Inside may be the final protection of the old master ledger.”

Zhou Heng gripped his copper coin.

“What exactly is buried inside the unmarked grave?”

Lu Yuan said:

“Those erased from living registers.”

Song Qinghe added:

“And the eraser’s palm impression.”

A black palm print slowly surfaced in the center of the stone door.

The palm had only four fingers; the little finger’s place had been removed.

Wang Cheng'an watched the palm and paled slightly.

“This is not Qi Shousuan’s hand.”

“Nor Gu Changgeng’s.”

“It’s Mr. Han’s.”

Lu Yuan pressed Gu Changgeng’s bronze plaque to the stone door.

The instant the plaque touched the palm print, a young man’s voice sounded from inside:

“Gu Changgeng, you still led them here in the end.”

The voice was clear, even with a hint of laughter.

Lu Yuan asked:

“What is your full name, Han?”

“Han Shoumo.”

Zhou Heng suddenly looked up.

“Han Shoumo?”

“His name appears in Qing Pine Temple’s old register within the pass.”

“He was not a Daoist.” Lin Zhaoxuan said, “He was a copyist sent by the Guardian Mountain Discussion Altar to the outer side.”

“He once copied back the registries from many places on North Mountain.”

Han Shoumo said:

“I was not a copyist.”

“I was the eraser.”

The stone door slowly shifted aside, revealing a black crack.

“Back then the master altar sought to combine six hundred and forty-seven people into the master name.”

“Gu Changgeng opposed it; Qi Shousuan hesitated.”

“Only I acted.”

“I erased a batch of names and hid them in the unmarked grave.”

Lu Yuan asked:

“Why?”

“To prevent the master altar from completing the master name.”

“But after you erased them, they became nameless.”

“Yes.”

“You saved their names but took away their identities.”

“Yes.”

“So this is the ledger you left?”

“And also the mistake I wanted later people to see.”

The stone door opened fully.

Inside there were no gravestones, only a field of extending white snow.

Black wooden stakes were planted through it, each blank of any inscription.

In the center was a low stone platform.

On it lay a gigantic roll of parchment.

In the parchment’s center pressed the four-fingered palm print.

Han Shoumo’s voice came from within:

“The master ledger is here.”

“Whoever writes the first stroke will have to bear all the echoes of the nameless.”

“If you six cannot each hold your own name, the ledger will choose you as one.”

Lu Yuan stepped into the unmarked grave.

When his soles touched the snow, the black stakes around tilted at once.

Countless voices rose from beneath the ground:

“I have no name.”

“I don’t remember where home is.”

“Someone says my surname is Chen.”

“Someone says I was an escapee.”

“Someone calls me Little Six.”

“Someone crossed my name out.”

“Someone else changed my name.”

“Someone registered me as three people.”

The voices thickened until it felt as if the entire snowfield spoke.

Xu Erxiao’s face went pale but he did not retreat.

“My name is Xu Erxiao.”

“My mother is buried west of Little Stone Hamlet.”

“Anyone without a name, remember this line of mine first.”

Wang Cheng'an said:

“My name is Wang Cheng'an.”

“I only keep accounts for the living.”

Lin Zhaoxuan said:

“Lin Zhaoxuan, from inside the pass, temporarily living outside.”

Zhou Heng said:

“Zhou Heng, Qing Pine Temple disciple, not cut from the line.”

Song Qinghe said:

“Song Qinghe, keeper of the lamp, protector of people.”

Lu Yuan spoke last:

“Lu Yuan, a free wanderer.”

Each of the six voices finished speaking.

The black stakes stopped tilting.

The huge parchment on the stone platform slowly unfurled.

The page was not covered in names, but in long scraped-away marks.

Each mark looked like a name forcibly gouged out of a living register.

Han Shoumo said:

“The first stroke.”

Lu Yuan walked onto the platform.

“What to write?”

“Write the person you will remember first.”

Lu Yuan looked at the torn marks.

A rain sound from the pharmacy came into his ears.

He saw his master sitting on the threshold holding herbs and asking:

“Do you remember what the first medicine was?”

He had always thought it was coptis.

But now he suddenly recalled that when he first followed his master into the pharmacy, the first ‘medicine’ that arrived was not from the cabinet but a half-frozen pear a vendor had handed them outside.

He couldn’t recall the old man’s name.

He only remembered the right ear had a missing corner.

Lu Yuan picked up the black pen on the platform.

“A nameless old man.”

But when the pen tip touched the parchment, it would not let him write a surname.

A strong force from the page pressed and forced him to commit to a specific surname.

“Li.”

“Zhang.”

“Zhao.”

“Wang.”

The four characters flashed in turn.

A voice next to him urged:

“Give me a surname.”

“Without a surname you cannot be recorded.”

“Any surname will do.”

Lu Yuan paused.

“He left no surname.”

Han Shoumo said:

“Then write ‘nameless.’”

“Nameless is not a name.”

“But he lived.”

“The master ledger needs a distinguishable name.”

“Then record his traits.”

Lu Yuan wrote beside the word “Nameless”:

“Right ear missing corner, sells frozen pears, once gave half a pear.”

When the black pen left the page, the parchment burst into a ring of white light.

A line of characters slowly appeared:

“Memory may serve as proof.”

For a moment the surrounding voices quieted.

Then hundreds of black stakes simultaneously took the first carved stroke.

Not a name.

But the last thing by which they were remembered.

“Sang little songs.”

“Knew how to mend wooden combs.”

“Old injury on left foot.”

“Liked pickled cabbage.”

“Afraid of thunder.”

“Died holding a cat.”

Xu Erxiao’s eyes reddened watching.

“So this is the master ledger?”

“The master ledger should not only record names.” Song Qinghe said, “It should also record what kind of people they were.”

Han Shoumo was silent a long while.

“I only knew how to erase names back then.”

“I never thought beyond that—that there were things besides names.”

Lu Yuan said:

“So you saved names but not people.”

“It’s not too late.”

The black palm print on the parchment began to crawl toward the first line, trying to erase “Memory may serve as proof.”

Lin Zhaoxuan flung an ink line, binding the palm print.

“It wants the master ledger to contain only names.”

Zhou Heng pressed a copper coin against the palm’s edge.

“Han Shoumo, if you are still alive, press it yourself.”

From under the stone platform a low, heavy breath came.

Someone suddenly stepped out behind the cliff.

His hair was streaked white; his body thin and tall; his left hand leaned on a wooden staff, his right had only four fingers.

He was the owner of the palm.

He looked far older than imagined, his face weathered, yet his eyes were still clear.

Han Shoumo stared at the master ledger on the platform.

“I am alive.”

“I have lived until now only to wait for the master ledger to be completely broken.”