Bian Yonglan stood with his sword raised, his chest rising and falling gently.

　Beyond the illusion lay yet another illusion—the Marquis of Wanjiang, raised in mansions with golden eaves and green tiles[1], living in luxury since childhood, had never set foot in such a derelict dwelling. If this wasn’t an illusion, what else could it be?

　“You old bastard! How dare you steal a child’s steamed bun!” he heard a woman in her thirties dressed in ragged clothes shouting. “How long did I save up just to buy this child a plain steamed bun? This child is also of the Li family’s bloodline!”

　“I didn’t steal the bun, I didn’t steal it…” The woman was standing with her hands on her hips, scolding a skinny old man who was hunched over and curled up on the kang bed-stove[2], stammering a low defence.

　”You still dare say you didn’t steal it! The child couldn’t bear to eat it, only took just a couple bites and hid it… and now it’s gone… My poor child, why must his life be so pitiful? Why did fate bring him to be born in to this household…” After a few curses, the woman began to weep, standing in the middle of the dilapidated house, wailing loudly and mournfully. She repeated her tirade countless times, her words flowing with practiced fluency. “Marrying into your family must be the punishment for incalculable sins! You old fools! You’re an old fool, the dead are dead, the runaways have run away, leaving us widows and orphans to tend to this old fool! What kind of life is this? I’d rather be dead!”

　“I didn’t steal the bun… I really didn’t steal the bun…”

　“You old bastard, do you think I can’t just leave you and remarry?” The woman was enraged, clenching her fists and pounded the old man wildly. “I won’t remarry! I stay here, guarding this lousy house to the death, doing endless chores day after day. And you thieve my child’s bun! I’ll beat you to death! I’ll kill you!”

　“Didn’t steal the bun, I didn’t steal the bun,” the old man muttered, his mind seemingly clouded. He repeated this phrase over and over, curled up in the corner of the kang bed, hugging his head to avoid the woman’s fists. After a moment, he reached out and tugged at the hem of her clothes. “I didn’t steal the bun… I’m hungry…”

　“…………” After cursing and beating him, the woman suddenly choked back a sob at his cries of hunger and stayed her hands.

　“… Starve then!” She wiped away her tears, flung open the door, and rushed out go earn her daily living, leaving behind a resentful parting sentence, “Even if you go hungry for a day, you won’t die!”

　Standing in the dilapidated house, the Marquis of Wanjiang understood the situation. This woman was likely a widow who had lost her husband, struggling alone to raise her child and care for her senile father-in-law, with no other relatives to help—though from her words, it seemed some relatives had abandoned them and fled.

　“I didn’t steal the bun… I’m hungry…”

　Bian Yonglan sensed that in this illusion, a single moment could show an entire day. The old man repeated these words over and over as the light in the room dimmed.

　“I’m hungry…” The old man muttered for a long while, but no one came to tend to him. Presumably starved and delirious, he reached down to tear at the tattered straw mat beneath him. Pulling off scraps, he stuffed them into his mouth.

　“That’s not edible!” The Marquis of Wanjiang rushed forward to stop him. He’d expected to be able to touch the old man, just as he had in the previous illusion, but to his surprise, his hand grasped only air.

　The old man stopped complaining about hunger and busied himself tearing the mat to stuff into his mouth. But how could he eat it? The old man, in his dazed state, chewed and forced himself to swallow.

　Bian Yonglan couldn’t stop him. He could only watch as the old man swallowed and for it to get stuck in his throat. He struggled for a long time, unable to breathe, and so choked to death right there.

　Perhaps because the old man had been in a state of confusion before his death, knowing neither hatred nor resentment, he did not become a vengeful spirit after death. With his demise, the illusion shattered completely. Only The Marquis of Wanjiang remained standing there, his hand still outstretched, frozen in a posture of helplessness, unable to obstruct, unable to intervene, unable to help.

　Dilapidated houses across the land were all very much alike, making it hard to say which was more broken than the next. And so Bian Yonglan stood there blankly, momentarily unaware that the dilapidated house around him had shifted to a different one.

　When he snapped back to awareness and fixed his gaze on the figure on the kang bed, he realised the illusion was different. The person on the kang bed had changed too. That skeletal form, reduced to little more than bones, clearly had far more reason to cry out in hunger than the old man who had choked to death.

　“Father…” A child, equally skin and bones, lay sprawled at the foot of the bed. Instead of crying out in hunger, he whispered softly, “Father… Father, wake up…”

　“…Where’s your mother?” After the child called out repeatedly, the man on the bed finally opened his eyes and asked weakly.

　“Mother… Mother disappeared days ago…” The child had no more than two liang[3] of flesh on his bones, yet his belly was swollen and distended, perhaps from drinking unboiled water, but he still had tears to cry. “I can’t find Mother…”

　“Don’t look for her… Listen to your father… Don’t wander off…” The figure on the bed managed a few more words, as if trying to reach out and touch the child’s head. But his strength failed him. His fingers twitched slightly before he sank back into unconsciousness.

　“Niuniu, come here…” The child was wiping his own tears when he suddenly heard someone calling his name at the doorway. Knowing his name meant it was likely a villager who knew him, but the boy didn’t go immediately. Hesitating for some reason, he finally managed to choke out, “My dad said I can’t wander off…”

　“Don’t be afraid. Come on, we have food at my place. Uncle will take you to eat…”

　The villager was equally skinny, yet still possessed the strength to speak and move. He soothed and coaxed the child while calling him over, his mouth involuntarily watering at the word ‘eat.’

　“Don’t go!” The child couldn’t fathom why fear suddenly gripped him, but Bian Yonglan instantly understood. He reached out to grab the boy. But of course he couldn’t hold him. He’d forgotten again that he couldn’t touch him.

　The child followed the villager out the door in confusion. Bian Yonglan stumbled after him for a few steps before finally stopping at the doorway. He realized he was afraid too—the fearless Marquis of Wanjiang, who feared nothing under heaven, now found himself too terrified to take that step forward, to see what the village outside looked like.

　He gripped his sword tightly, his rage reaching extreme levels, yet his face betrayed not a single flicker of emotion. Xia Chunqiu had said he had lived in the world for over thirty years; thus, the scenes in these illusions must have occurred within the past sixty years.

　The Marquis of Wanjiang raged at his own ignorance that within just sixty years, under the emperor’s rule, such famine and disaster had struck, such horrors of cannibalism had unfolded!

　Why did the court remain unaware? Why did the authorities offer no relief? Why!

　Because the Son of Heaven was but one man, while his subjects—officials and common folk alike—numbered in the tens of millions. There would always be incompetent and corrupt officials, tragedies concealed from superiors, matters beyond sight or control, evils impossible to eradicate, and grievances left unvoiced.

　“I’m hungry…”

　Hearing these words again, the Marquis of Wanjiang turned expressionless to find a pair of skeleton bone fingers clutching at his robe.

　His face remained unreadable, but the Buddha’s aura protecting him showed emotion—perhaps sensing the wrath within the one it was protecting. The Vajra Arhat’s form glared with eyes open wide, mouth poised to roar, its furious gaze fixed upon this corner of the mortal world.

　“Gege[4], I’m hungry…” The child behind Bian Yonglan was now nothing but skeletal remains, bones stark white as if every trace of flesh had been scraped clean. But The Marquis of Wanjiang knew this child hadn’t starved to death.

　“…………”

　The child made no further sound. Only the living flesh before him remained. Its jaws snapped open, and it lunged, biting down hard on Bian Yonglan’s hand.

　Teeth still remained in a skeleton’s skull. With a fierce bite, he tore through skin and flesh.

　With the protective aura of the Buddha, this child’s skeleton should never have been able to reach Bian Yonglan’s hand, let alone draw blood.

　Some are willing to sacrifice themselves, with tears in their eyes.

　The Buddha will not stand in their way.

　“………”

　Flesh torn and blood flowing, the white skull suddenly froze. Though devoid of human skin and expression, one could still sense a flicker of panic in the tiny skeletal form.

　“I… I didn’t…” The child skull loosened his grip, yet edged closer to Bian Yonglan’s hand, his teeth twitching slightly.

　“No matter…” The Marquis of Wanjiang, skilled at reading human intentions, was equally adept at deciphering ghostly thoughts.

　“No need to blow on it to stop the hurt… Gege doesn’t hurt.” He sheathed his blade and raised a hand to touch the tiny white skull. A smile spread across his face, and only then did tears fall.

　An illusionary world where people willingly sacrificed for another’s passage, quietly shattered.

　Bian Yonglan stood upon a battlefield, surrounded by the chaotic clash of two armies. Yet he neither dodged nor drew his blade, remaining rooted to the spot like a clay statue. His gaze darted wildly around searching for something, but what the something was remained unknown.

　This battlefield was familiar to the Marquis of Wanjiang—not merely seen, but deeply familiar. He had once sliced the head of a renowned general from the midst of this very chaos. When the general fell, the soldiers collapsed into defeat.

　Bian Yonglan felt himself transformed into a sheet of paper, or perhaps, without realizing it, into a ghost. He drifted and swayed within this illusion, witnessing one army collapse while another laid down its arms. The deserting soldiers scattered without order; those who had seen blood lost all restraint, swarming like locusts over villages and towns, burning, killing, plundering, and seizing supplies and possessions.

　“Soldier! Soldier, spare my life!”

　He finally drew his blade.

　“Mother! Mother! No! Mother!”

　He struck.

　“Help! Help me!”

　Every strike is in vain.

　But what else could he do? He had only one sword.

　So even as his strikes fell empty, he kept striking, blow after blow.

　The past is gone, all reduced to dust.

　It was simply impossible to stop them, impossible to block them, impossible to help, impossible to arrive in time.

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T/L note: Niuniu 牛牛 also is ox/cow. Even worse.

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[1] 锦衣玉食 idiom, brocade garments, jade meals

[2] Traditional heated platform used for general living, working, entertaining and sleeping in the northern part of China

[3] Idiom, one liang is 37 grams, so he was really thin

[4] 哥哥 Older brother, or term of address for someone older than oneself.