Chapter 325: Where Is the Truth?

The Black Bridge stretched between two mountain ridges. There was no river beneath it, only a sea of white mist with no visible bottom.

The seven of them reached the bridgehead while it was still early. The bridge was paved with black wood, and its planks were carved with dense lines of old writing, as though countless soles had worn them down.

A new wooden sign stood on a crooked post at the bridgehead. It read:

“First identify your origin, then cross the bridge.”

Xu Erxiao circled the sign and knocked on it.

“The wood is real.”

“The bridge is real too,” Zhou Heng said. “It’s the mist beneath it that’s wrong.”

He tossed a twig down. It sank into the mist, and no sound of it landing ever came. After a while, several faint snaps came from within the fog, as if someone had broken the twig into pieces.

Song Qinghe raised her lamp to illuminate the bridge.

The green light reached only three feet ahead. Beyond that, the black wood seemed soaked in ink, swallowing the light.

“There are words carved into the bridge,” she said.

Lu Yuan approached and crouched to examine them.

The bridge planks were carved with countless names, some large, some small. Some had been repeatedly trampled, while others looked as though they had only just been carved. Beside each name was an empty space. Some spaces contained village names; others read “father unknown,” “mother pending investigation,” or “migration unrecorded.”

On the plank closest to the bridgehead were two names.

“Gu Qiniang.”

“Lu Yuan.”

The two lines stood side by side, each with a round hollow beneath it.

White Reed glanced at them and immediately took half a step back.

“It’s waiting for us to enter our names.”

Wang Cheng'an took out the corrections register from inside his robe and turned to the newly written entry: “Two people traveling together; evidence recorded separately.”

“We can’t just take the bridge’s writing at face value. First, we need to check where these planks came from.”

“Where did the bridge come from?” Xu Erxiao asked.

Lin Zhaoxuan crouched and wound an inked cord around one of the bridge supports.

“There are old carvings at the base.”

“Can you see them?”

“They’re sealed under mud.”

Zhou Heng drew his sword and carefully scraped the hardened mud from around the support with its tip. When the crust fell away, a row of shallowly carved words appeared:

“Old North Mountain Ferry, repaired by Shen Bonian.” “Timber taken from the southern slope of Liu family gully.” “Bridge planks replaced in the early years of the Republic of China.” “The nameless must leave evidence, but not their names, when crossing.”

Shen Qiushuang was not there. After reading these lines, Wang Cheng'an’s expression shifted.

“The Southern Register didn’t make this bridge.”

“It’s a bridge from an old ferry,” Song Qinghe said. “It was only later changed into a place where people have to identify themselves.”

Lu Yuan took out the North Ferry Pass.

The pass stated, “No more than seven travelers together.” At the bridgehead before them, seven shallow footprints had been carved, each pointing away from the bridge.

“All seven of us are on the list,” Xu Erxiao said.

“Those footprints weren’t necessarily left for us,” White Reed said. “They might belong to the previous group.”

She pointed toward the bridge.

The seven footprints were of different depths. Two were very small, as though made by children. In front of the prints was a line of writing:

“Those crossing must state their own origins. No one may answer on another’s behalf.”

White Reed went pale.

“I’ve seen this old rule before.”

“On the boat?” Lu Yuan asked.

“In the box.”

She closed her eyes, as if trying to make sense of her memories.

“A long time ago, someone taught me to stand on a plank and asked me where I came from. I couldn’t answer, so he made me watch the river until I gave him a surname.”

“Did you?”

“I said ‘Gu.’”

She opened her eyes.

“After that, they called me Witness Gu.”

Wang Cheng'an lowered his eyes to the corrections register.

“This bridge uses an old rule to force people into choosing a surname, then records that surname as the only answer.”

“That’s why it says, ‘First identify your origin,’” Song Qinghe said. “It confuses origin with name.”

Xu Erxiao planted one foot on the plank at the bridgehead.

“Then I’ll go first.”

Lu Yuan looked at him.

“You don’t have to test it for everyone.”

“I’m not testing it for everyone,” Xu Erxiao said. “I’m just going to say my own piece first.”

He stood before the plank, gripping his iron shovel, and spoke clearly:

“My name is Xu Erxiao. My mother is Liu Sanniang, from Lower Bay in Liu family gully. I grew up in Little Stone Village. I don’t remember where my real father is, and I don’t know where my mother went afterward. But that doesn’t mean I have no origin.”

When he finished, the bridge plank trembled faintly.

The words “father unknown” that had appeared in the space beside “Xu Erxiao” slowly faded, replaced by “stated by the person; pending investigation.”

Xu Erxiao glanced at it and grinned.

“Now that’s more like it.”

He stepped back to the bridgehead.

Zhou Heng went second.

“Zhou Heng, from within the passes. Lineage unrecorded. I came here to investigate the shrine feeding the Malevolent Deity in the mountains. My lineage and origin can be added later. The bridge doesn’t get to decide them.”

The empty space on the plank displayed the words “within the passes,” then added “self-reported” after them.

Song Qinghe stepped forward next.

“Song Qinghe, from within the passes. Traveling with Lin Zhaoxuan and Zhou Heng. I use the green lamp to investigate old records and verify evidence. My birthplace can be checked. Family ties are not being examined here.”

After she finished, the bridge did not change. It displayed only a faint “stated.”

Lin Zhaoxuan walked up, carrying the inked cord.

“Lin Zhaoxuan, a Daoist disciple from within the passes. My lineage is Lin Family Temple. This journey is to investigate the shrine feeding the Malevolent Deity. Anything recorded or observed must be supported by evidence.”

He placed a length of inked cord beside the plank. The writing on it flashed once, then dimmed.

Wang Cheng'an carried the frame of the abacus. He paused for a moment when he reached the bridgehead.

“Wang Cheng'an, son of Wang Shouyi.”

The moment the words left his mouth, the bridge blazed with light.

Beside Wang Cheng'an’s name, the three characters for “Shouyi” appeared rapidly. A black line immediately hooked onto them, as if trying to join father and son into a single entry.

He promptly added:

“The father-son relationship is supported by old household records and the land deed. I do not inherit my father’s debts. My origin is Wang family village. I now live on the mountain road and am traveling with the others to investigate the accounts.”

The black line loosened at once.

Four characters appeared beside his name:

“Stated by the person.”

By the time Wang Cheng'an returned, a thin sheen of sweat had formed on his forehead.

“It doesn’t just make people state their names,” he said. “For each person’s stated origin, it’s secretly searching for a connection that can be linked to the old accounts.”

Only Lu Yuan and White Reed remained.

The two names on the bridge grew clearer, and a faint light swirled inside the two hollows.

Lu Yuan did not step forward first.

“White Reed, you go first.”

White Reed looked at the plank bearing the name “Gu Qiniang.”

“If you don’t want to, you don’t have to give a name.”

“I know.”

She placed the small wooden box Shen Qiushuang had given her at the bridgehead, then took out the record inside labeled “White Reed, self-chosen” and opened it to a blank space.

“My name is White Reed.”

The bridge did not respond.

She continued:

“I once woke up inside a wooden box. I was once called Witness Gu. Someone said I might be Gu Qiniang. I don’t know whether that was my original name. So for now, I use White Reed.”

As soon as she finished, the bridge suddenly lit up.

The three characters “Gu Qiniang” tried to appear, but the two characters for “White Reed” pressed them down. They struggled against each other for a moment, then finally appeared side by side on the same plank, separated by a thin line.

A line of small writing appeared beside them:

“Current name: White Reed. Former name possibly Gu Qiniang. Kinship pending verification.”

White Reed looked at the words and slowly let out a breath.

“It’s written down.”

“It hasn’t been settled,” Lu Yuan said.

“I know.”

Lu Yuan stepped forward, but did not step on his name.

He stood at the bridgehead, looking down at the plank.

“Lu Yuan.”

The characters on the bridge lit up.

“Youngest son of the Lu family.”

A black line stretched from beneath the words “Lu family,” trying to link itself to White Reed’s name. Lu Yuan raised his saber and pressed the line down with its back.

“My name is Lu Yuan. I left Little Stone Village when I was young, and Gu Changgeng took me away. I don’t know my original name. I don’t know who my parents are. I don’t know whether White Reed was the child traveling in the same cart as me.”

The name on the bridge plank flickered uncertainly.

Lu Yuan continued:

“All of that is pending investigation. Pending investigation isn’t a blank. And a blank isn’t yours to claim.”

The black line slowly shrank back into the plank.

At last, the two names settled separately in their own places.

Of the seven footprints at the bridgehead, the last one did not light up.

Just as everyone thought they were done, a carriage bell suddenly rang from beneath the bridge.

The complete plum-blossom lock in Lu Yuan’s hand grew scorching hot.

On the Black Bridge, a plank closest to its center flipped up, revealing a flattened piece of paper beneath it.

A water stain ran across the paper. The writing was blurred, and only this could be made out:

“Gu Changgeng, did not cross the bridge.”

White Reed took a step forward.

“Is he on the other side of the bridge?”

“Or maybe he only came as far as the bridge,” Wang Cheng'an said. “Let’s look for supporting evidence first.”

Zhou Heng bent down to examine the plank that had flipped up.

“There’s something on the back of the paper.”

He lifted the sheet with the tip of his sword. A small lump of mud clung to its back, with a black wooden nail embedded in it. Half a wheel imprint was carved into the nail, and a faint trace of red lacquer still clung to its edge.

Xu Erxiao took out the carriage wood and was about to compare them when a low knocking suddenly sounded from the bridge.

Three knocks.

A pause.

Four knocks.

White Reed shuddered.

“It’s Gu Changgeng’s signal.”

Lu Yuan did not answer immediately.

First, he brought the carriage shaft near the wooden nail.

The chipped spot in the red lacquer on the shaft matched the lacquer trace on the nail exactly. The nail must have come loose from that old cart before someone later drove it into the bridge plank.

“The evidence matches,” Wang Cheng'an said. “Gu Changgeng came here.”

White Reed leaned close to the bridge and knocked twice, gently.

“Who’s on the other side?”

The mist beneath the bridge billowed, but there was no answer.

She knocked four times.

After a long while, the same response came from deep within the bridge.

Two knocks, a pause, then four.

Lu Yuan gripped the hilt of his saber.

“Is he still alive?”

“The signal can’t prove that he’s alive,” Song Qinghe said. “Only that someone knows it.”

Another series of knocks came from the center of the bridge.

This time there were only three, in a slow rhythm.

Then the writing on the bridge began to change.

The words “stated by the person” beside everyone’s name were wiped away with black ink and rewritten as:

“Origin unverified.”

“It doesn’t accept what we just said,” Xu Erxiao said.

“It accepted it,” Wang Cheng'an said, looking at the plank. “Someone on the other side is changing it.”

At the far end of the bridge, a long table slowly emerged from the mist.

A black book lay on the table.

A person in an old cotton robe sat with his back to them, holding a pen and crossing out the writing on the bridge one stroke at a time.

There was no lamp beside the table, only an overturned bronze bowl.

Lu Yuan saw the person’s right hand.

Half his little finger was missing.

Gu Changgeng’s right little finger was missing half of it too.

“Gu Changgeng.”

The person did not turn around.

He continued writing on the paper.

Beside “Lu Yuan” on the bridge plank, “origin pending verification” gradually disappeared, replaced by:

“Name-Bearer of the Lu family.”

White Reed’s name began changing as well.

“Current name: White Reed. Former name possibly Gu Qiniang” was covered over layer by layer with ink, until only this remained:

“Gu Qiniang, registered in the witness ledger.”

Lu Yuan drew his saber and stepped onto the bridge.

The entire bridge shook violently.

The words “First identify your origin, then cross the bridge” on the wooden sign abruptly split apart. The crack ran forward along the length of the bridge.

Lin Zhaoxuan immediately tied the inked cord to the wooden post at the bridgehead.

“Don’t go any farther!”

Zhou Heng grabbed Lu Yuan by the collar.

“The bridge is coming apart.”

Where the bridge split, layer upon layer of yellow paper was exposed beneath it. Each sheet bore a different origin. The edges clung to one another, as though someone had compressed countless people’s histories into a bridge.

Xu Erxiao thrust his iron shovel into the crack to brace two planks that were about to separate.

“Brother Lu, come back!”

Lu Yuan stared at the figure at the center of the bridge.

“He’s changing our names.”

“Crossing now would mean playing by his ledger,” Wang Cheng'an said.

At last, the old man at the center of the bridge stopped writing.

He slowly turned around.

His face was old and gaunt, with a faint scar across his brow. His left eye looked cloudy, but his right eye was still bright.

Gu Changgeng.

He did not look at Lu Yuan. The first person he looked at was White Reed.

“You shouldn’t have come onto the bridge.”

White Reed gripped the Red Cord.

“Did you lock me up on the boat?”

Gu Changgeng fell silent.

“I asked you, did you lock me up on the boat?”

“No.”

“Then who did?”

“I don’t know.”

White Reed’s expression turned cold.

“Do you know my name?”

Gu Changgeng looked at her, as if he had many things he wanted to say. In the end, he only said, “I know what you used to be called.”

“Then tell me.”

“I can’t.”

“Again with ‘can’t.’”

White Reed walked up to the crack in the bridge.

“All of you have a name, but none of you will tell me mine. You say it’s to protect me, to keep the official register from recognizing me. But I’ve been locked in a box for all these years. Who was it that decided for me?”

Gu Changgeng lowered his head.

“I did.”

White Reed’s voice trembled slightly.

“Did you send me onto the boat?”

“Yes.”

“Did you leave me on the boat?”

“Yes.”

“Did you write me down as a witness?”

“I didn’t write that.”

“But you didn’t take me away.”

Gu Changgeng was silent for a long time.

“I did take you away.”

“I remember you carrying me into the cart.”

“Then the pursuers caught up. I had no choice but to entrust you to Shen Bonian.”

“Did Shen Bonian put me in the box?”

“He hid you.”

“Until I forgot who I was?”

Gu Changgeng’s right hand trembled faintly.

“Back then, I thought hiding your name for a while was better than letting the official register find you.”

“And what happened?”

“I was wrong.”

The crack in the bridge gradually widened.

The black book in front of Gu Changgeng opened. There were no pages inside, only one thinly shaved wooden slip after another. Each slip was carved with a name, the cuts varying in depth.

“The official register has already begun closing,” he said. “If you cross, it will take you all in.”

“Then why are you on the other side?” Lu Yuan asked.

Gu Changgeng did not look at him.

“I couldn’t cross.”

“How long have you been guarding this place?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Why don’t you go back?”

“I can’t.”

Standing before the broken bridge planks, White Reed kept her eyes fixed on him.

“Why won’t you say my name?”

“Because the moment you hear it, the official register will know you’ve claimed it.”

“What if I don’t want it?”

Gu Changgeng raised his head.

“Then don’t.”

“The name is yours, not the official register’s.”

White Reed’s gaze did not soften.

“Then why can’t I know it?”

Gu Changgeng fell silent for a moment, then took a wooden tablet from the black book and placed it on the table.

“Because that isn’t your final name.”

“What is it, then?”

“The name someone gave you when you were born.”

“But you didn’t take me away.”

“By the time Shen Bonian rescued you, you’d already refused to answer to that name.”

White Reed froze.

Gu Changgeng looked at the Red Cord around her wrist.

“After you woke up, you wrote down White Reed yourself. That was the first name you chose to keep.”

“I didn’t call you by your old name because I was afraid the official register would recognize you.”

“I was afraid that if you heard it, you’d think you had to become that person again.”

A line of tiny writing suddenly appeared in the black book at the center of the bridge:

“Gu Qiniang, original name Gu Baizhi.”

White Reed stared at the three characters and said nothing for a long moment.

Gu Changgeng’s expression changed abruptly.

“Don’t read it!”

But it was too late.

Black ink surged across the bridge. The line “Current name: White Reed” by White Reed’s feet was rapidly eaten away. New characters formed stroke by stroke:

“Gu Baizhi, eldest daughter of the Gu family.” “Witness ledger restored.”

White Reed lowered her head to look at her name.

Her fingers trembled, but she did not retreat.

Lu Yuan reached out and pressed down on the bridge plank that was about to flip up.

“White Reed.”

She raised her eyes.

“Say it yourself.”

White Reed closed her eyes and drew a deep breath.

“I heard it.”

The black characters on the bridge continued to grow.

“Gu Baizhi.”

She spoke again, her voice steadier than before.

“That is a name.”

“It may once have belonged to me.”

“But my name is White Reed now.”

“I do not accept it deciding where I must go.”

The black characters stopped.

The three characters “Gu Baizhi” remained on the bridge, but they no longer extended toward “Witness ledger restored.”

White Reed opened her eyes.

“Record both names.”

“Gu Baizhi, origin pending investigation.”

“White Reed, current name self-chosen.”

The writing on the plank slowly appeared side by side.

For the first time, the black book at the center of the bridge made a crisp cracking sound.

As if its spine had split.

Gu Changgeng sprang to his feet.

“Get back!”

The layers of paper beneath the bridge flipped over all at once. Black hands reached out through the cracks, clawing toward everyone at the bridgehead.

Wang Cheng'an passed the corrections seal to Lin Zhaoxuan.

Lin Zhaoxuan caught it and pressed it to the wooden sign at the bridgehead.

“Record the person’s own account first!”

Cinnabar fell, and all seven footprints at the bridgehead lit up at once.

Zhou Heng tightened the inked cord. Xu Erxiao wedged his iron shovel between the planks. Song Qinghe raised her lamp to illuminate the black hands, while Lu Yuan drew his saber and severed the first paper arm to climb out.

White Reed did not retreat.

Standing beside the crack, she addressed the center of the bridge, speaking one word at a time:

“Gu Changgeng, what you owe me isn’t a name.”

“It’s giving the choice back to me.”

Gu Changgeng looked at her, his eyes reddening.

“I know.”

“Then stop standing in my way.”

White Reed tightened her grip on the Red Cord and stepped forward.

Gu Changgeng did not stop her.

He only took the wooden tablet inscribed with “Gu Baizhi” from the black book and set it on the table.

On the back of the tablet, another line had been carved so faintly it was almost shaved away:

“Her younger brother, Lu Yuan.”

Lu Yuan’s heart clenched.

Gu Changgeng raised his head and finally looked straight at him.

“If you want to cross the bridge, first separate these two tablets.”

“Why?”

“Because the official register will use them to prove you’re part of the same account.”

“What if they can’t be separated?”

Gu Changgeng gripped the edge of the table as the black book slowly closed behind him.

“Then no one can cross the bridge.”

The crack in the bridge planks stopped widening.

The wind flipped the sign at the bridgehead over. Another line appeared on its back:

“First identify your origin, then cross the bridge.”

“If there is more than one origin, which is the truth?”