Volume One: When Youths Meet in Their Humble Days Chapter Eighty-Eight: Shen Tang's Choice

Lu Ming’s reasoning was not lost on Li Yu. He could not bring himself to blame Lu Ming, for from Lu Ming’s perspective, there was truly no need to tell him. And yet, to suddenly learn the true nature behind the so-called Talent Selection Assembly—such a revelation left him shaken to the core.

What did this mean? It meant that those who lit up the stone stele in broad daylight would, before long, all vanish from this world. Li Yu understood the fragility of life; he simply never expected that what had played out before his eyes years ago was destined to repeat itself.

“Then why are you telling me now?” he asked.

Lu Ming’s voice held a tinge of worry. “Because I never expected the Shen parents would be chosen as dual sacrifices—both yin and yang. They won’t even have a chance to escape. And your relationship with them is unlike any other. I was afraid that if you learned the truth only at the last moment, you might not be able to restrain yourself.”

Yes, Lu Ming had kept silent before for fear that Li Yu would disrupt the ceremony; now, he spoke out of the same fear—that Li Yu might break the pattern altogether.

“Li Yu, I know how deeply you value loyalty and friendship,” Lu Ming continued. “But in this matter of Tianmen Town, neither of us has the power to change anything. Their fates are sealed. What we must consider now is how best to secure the future of their children.”

Li Yu’s voice was tinged with bitterness. “And the children of the others—what about them? What will become of them?”

Lu Ming answered with difficulty, “Have you really not noticed? These past two days, almost everyone found to have talent comes from the same families. It means the entire household is to be offered as sacrifices. There’s no escape.”

Only then, after Lu Ming’s reminder, did Li Yu realize the truth. No wonder they’d separated people by age groups for the testing—by dividing families, they reduced the chance anyone would notice that those with talent were, in fact, nearly all from the same households.

Lu Ming escorted Li Yu back to Youyi Temple. This time, Li Yu did not invite him in—his mind was in turmoil, his heart anxious and lost. Lu Ming watched him enter, then stood quietly before the closed doors and spoke softly, “Li Yu, I know this is hard for you to accept, but the truth is plain to see. Now, the choices they must make and the role you will play—it is time for you to decide.”

Li Yu did not hear these words. Once inside the temple, he went straight to the Abbot’s quiet chamber and asked, “Master, you’ve known all along, haven’t you?”

The Daoist made no reply.

Li Yu pressed on, “How much longer did you intend to keep this from me? Brother Lu told me everything today—the so-called Talent Selection Assembly is nothing but a selection of sacrifices. You knew Tianmen Town was destined for this calamity. That’s why you told me, if parting is inevitable, then take care to say a proper farewell.”

After a long silence, the Daoist finally spoke. “This is the very reason for Tianmen Town’s existence. None of us can alter their fate. From the very moment their ancestors settled here, becoming sacrifices was written into their destiny.”

Li Yu collapsed to the floor, disbelief clouding his face. Never before had he heard such helplessness from his master. In his memories, his master was always omnipotent, yet now, he appeared so utterly defeated.

“Are we really to stand by and watch, powerless to act?”

A chill wind blew from nowhere, piercing Li Yu’s heart. The Daoist gave no answer, for this was always part of his plan, and how could he move to change it now?

That night, Youyi Temple was cloaked in silence. For the first time, Li Yu did not read the scriptures. Instead, he sat before his desk, again and again calculating and divining.

Over the past seven years, he had learned much magic from the Daoist’s library. Most spells required cultivation, but some did not—like the Celestial Observatory, which he now employed.

The Celestial Observatory did not require great cultivation, only a heart calm enough to enter a meditative state, to contemplate the stars and, by observing their motions, deduce the future of this time and place.

The creator of this art believed that the human eye’s view of the night sky held within it the veiled destinies of the land below.

Li Yu had always found the spell wondrous. He once sought the Daoist’s opinion, who agreed it had merit, though it was of little use to him. The Daoist, at the peak of his powers, could already borrow the Dao of time and space, treading the river of time to witness all that had been and all that was to come. Yet, even he, when seeking the future, could only glimpse fragments, never the whole.

Sweat beaded on Li Yu’s brow. Within his consciousness, he could not see the full course of events ahead—only hazy hints. He saw glimmers—many glimmers—floating skyward, merging into the stele. And then—nothing. That was the limit of the spell. When he tried to push further, a violent tremor shook his mind, and he spat blood.

“How can this be? Is there truly no way?” he murmured.

The night passed. The Daoist, well aware of Li Yu’s actions, only shook his head upon hearing of the blood he’d coughed up. “Little Fish, do not blame me. You’ll understand one day—this is as much as I can do.”

The next day, Li Yu appeared before his master’s chamber, his expression haggard. He knelt and bowed. “Master, I do not know what you intend, but now that I know of the sacrifices, I must tell Aunt Shen and Uncle Shen. They have the right to know the fate of their lives.”

With that, he left.

On his way to the Shens’ home, Li Yu heard the townsfolk everywhere, jubilant at having been chosen. Some he knew, some not—but all were overflowing with happiness.

Passing Wang Er’s tavern, he was stopped by the cheerful proprietor, who eagerly shared his joy at being selected. Seeing Wang Er’s beaming face, Li Yu thought of how the man had lived over thirty years, unmarried to this day, and was now to become a sacrifice. Unbidden, his eyes grew misty.

He forced back his tears, suppressed the urge to tell the truth.

Wang Er, noticing the strangeness in Li Yu’s expression, asked with concern, “Little Fish, what’s wrong? Did your master scold you? Why so down today?”

Li Yu did not answer, his eyes growing redder, a thousand words stuck in his throat.

Wang Er quickly pulled him behind the counter, produced the sweet cakes he had bought, and offered them to Li Yu. “Don’t cry, lad. Your master has that temper, but he means no harm. He won’t be angry for long. Eat—these cakes are very sweet.”

Li Yu took the steaming cake and, under the man’s expectant gaze, took a bite. Forcing a smile, he said, “Uncle Wang, it really is sweet.”

He quickened his pace, not wanting to hear their happy voices or see their cheerful faces any longer. Never had he realized how far it was from Youyi Temple to the Shen family’s home.

When he finally arrived, the family was having breakfast. Seeing Li Yu so breathless and flustered, they wondered if something had happened.

Shen Tang hurried over. “Little Fish, what’s wrong? Why are you here in such a rush? Is something the matter?”

Li Yu glanced around and saw Shen Xun was not present. After Shen Tang offered him tea, and Mrs. Shen urged him to the table, he took a sip, steadying himself, and asked, “Brother Xun isn’t here? I have something urgent to tell you.”

Mr. Shen ladled out a bowl of porridge. “He’s gone to the academy.”

Li Yu did not touch the food. Instead, he stared into Mr. Shen’s eyes, and, steeling himself, finally said, “Uncle Shen, I have something to tell you.”

The other two members of the Shen family sat nearby, showing little curiosity about what he was about to say. Even the ever-inquisitive Shen Tang sat in silence.

Seeing this, Li Yu understood. Choked with emotion, he asked, “Uncle Shen—you already know?”

Shen Tang answered, “We all know. Only my brother doesn’t.”

Li Yu was left speechless by their calm, almost serene composure. “Aren’t you afraid?” he asked.

Mr. Shen smiled. “Afraid? And if we are, what good would it do? Can we resist them?”

Li Yu was at a loss for words. Suddenly remembering that Mr. Shen had visited the Daoist at the temple that night, he asked, “Uncle, did you learn of the ritual that night?”

“Yes,” Mr. Shen replied. “The Daoist told me everything. We’ve been prepared for this. Besides, he promised to protect Tang’er for me. That sets my mind at ease.”

Li Yu’s heart ached. “Uncle, I’m sorry. I can’t help you. My master can’t help you either.”

Mr. Shen took the handkerchief Mrs. Shen handed him and gently wiped away Li Yu’s tears. “This isn’t your fault. Don’t take it to heart. This is our fate as people of Tianmen Town. From birth, this was the burden we were meant to bear.”

Li Yu wiped his tears and looked at Shen Tang. “What about you, Sister Tang? What about Brother Xun?”

Mr. Shen regarded his daughter fondly. Shen Tang replied gently, but with unwavering resolve, “I will stay in Tianmen Town. I want to accompany my parents on this final journey.”

Mrs. Shen stroked her daughter’s head, smiling with both relief and helplessness. “Why can’t you just do as we ask and go with your brother?”

Li Yu looked at them, perplexed. Mr. Shen explained, “That night, the Daoist told me everything and said it would be best for Xun to leave with the two tutors. I agreed.”

“You’ve contacted the tutors?” Li Yu asked.

Mr. Shen nodded.

“What if Brother Xun refuses to go?” Li Yu, envisioning the scene, asked sadly.

Mr. Shen laughed heartily. “He’ll have no say in it. I’m still his father—he’ll do as I say.”

Li Yu glanced again at Shen Tang, hesitant to speak. Shen Tang, reading his thoughts, said fiercely, “If you’re my brother, you’ll listen to your sister. I won’t leave—I don’t want anyone to force me.”

Though Shen Tang appeared composed, Li Yu knew her grief was no less than his own.

In truth, after learning the previous night that her parents had been chosen as dual sacrifices, Mr. Shen had told her everything once Shen Xun was asleep. At first, it was hard for her to accept; she had believed her parents were simply leaving to cultivate, not to face the finality of death. Who could accept their own parents being offered as sacrifices?

That night was the saddest in Shen Tang’s life. Her parents’ calm acceptance of life and death only deepened her pain. She clung to them and wept for a long, long time, falling asleep in their room from exhaustion. To avoid alerting Shen Xun the next morning, she did not leave until after he had gone.

Li Yu had not expected them to already know. He wondered—was there truly nothing he could do? What, in the end, did his master intend?