The Nanhuan wilds knew rain—but Willow Creek Village had not shed a tear in three years.Xie Wuchen and Bai Ying stepped through the village gate at dusk.
Children ran barefoot through the mud, laughing brightly—yet not one cried.
Even more unsettling: their eyes held no sorrow, no joy—only the hollow gleam of glass beads, reflecting sky without feeling."Just like Linhé City," Bai Ying murmured. "Their karmic threads have been siphoned. Only shells remain."The gray thread on Xie Wuchen's right arm had now crept to his collarbone. With every step, another memory dissolved like smoke.
He strained to recall his mother's face—but all that remained was the warmth of a bowl in his hands.At the eastern edge of the village, a crumbling temple clung to the cliffside.
No plaque marked its name. Only the stone steps bore countless child-sized handprints—deep, shallow, worn smooth by years of desperate climbing.From within came a low chant—not sutra, not scripture, but a nursery rhyme:"Sky darkens, rain will fall,
Mama, don't cry—I feel no pain at all.
If you ask where I dwell?
Beneath the Weeping Temple… lies my shell."Xie Wuchen's chest tightened.Bai Ying darted inside.No deity stood within—only a stone sculpture of a mother and child at the center.
The mother knelt, palms upturned as if catching something unseen;
the infant in her arms gazed upward, mouth slightly open—yet no tear stained its cheeks."This is the Weeping Temple," Bai Ying said, tracing the base of the statue.
"Ancient legend says: if a mortal weeps here for seven days, they may trade their tears for one day of the dead's return."She paused."But a hundred years ago, Heaven's Dao decreed: 'Tears of grief disrupt cosmic order. The Edict of No Weeping is issued.'
Since then, no one in Nanhuan dares to cry."Before she finished, footsteps approached.An old man hobbled in, leaning on a cane. Seeing them, a flicker lit his clouded eyes:"You've come… to see my grandson for A-Ruan?"Xie Wuchen froze. "You know the crone from the Yin Market?""She was my wife," the old man said bitterly. "Seven years after she passed, our grandson fell into a fever. I carried him here, begging the temple for mercy. But the moment my tears fell—lightning struck. From that day on… he could never cry again."He pointed to a thin boy crouched by the wall."That's my grandson. Little Ah Shu."Ah Shu was drawing in the dirt with a stick.
Xie Wuchen stepped closer—and saw the ground covered in eyes: large, small, closed, weeping.
The final sketch was his own face… but with no mouth."He says crying brings heavenly punishment," the old man's voice cracked. "But last night, he whispered to me: 'Grandpa… I want to cry. So badly…'"Silence stretched.Then Xie Wuchen asked softly:"Why does this temple connect to the underworld?""Because true tears carry pure karma," Bai Ying replied. "Unmixed with desire or calculation—clear as morning dew. Heaven's Dao forbids them… yet cannot fully erase their power."Suddenly, searing pain shot up Xie Wuchen's arm!
The gray thread surged toward his neck—His memories shattered.Darkness swallowed him.
When his vision cleared, he stood gripping a sword, facing a black-clad woman who watched him with wary eyes."Who are you?" he demanded, voice cold.Bai Ying paled. "Xie Wuchen! You don't remember me?!"He looked around, disoriented—then his gaze fell on Ah Shu.
The boy stared up at him… and a single tear gathered in his eye.In that instant, Xie Wuchen's heart felt crushed by an invisible fist.
Some deep, buried instinct awoke.He knelt, gently wiped the boy's tear away, and whispered hoarsely:"Don't be afraid… cry."BOOM—!The sky blackened.
Clouds coiled into a colossal eye. A golden thunderbolt lanced down, aimed straight at the temple!"Violator of the Edict—execution is ordained!" boomed a voice from the void."Run!" Bai Ying yanked his sleeve. "Heaven's Dao is purging this 'emotional contamination'!"But Xie Wuchen stood firm.Ah Shu finally wailed—great, gasping sobs. His tears struck the stone floor… and bloomed into tiny points of glowing light, sinking into the statue's base.Crack…A fissure split the stone mother's chest.
A wisp of azure smoke rose, shaping into the translucent form of the old crone.She looked upon her husband and grandson, tears shimmering in her spectral eyes."I see him… my grandson. He's so beautiful."As her form began to fade, she turned to Xie Wuchen and bowed deeply."Thank you, young master… for keeping your word."The thunderbolt was seconds from impact!In that sliver of time, Xie Wuchen remembered—
He tore open his robe, revealing an old scar across his chest. It pulsed with faint runes, resonating with the gray thread.He roared:"My mother was crying when she died! By what right do you steal her tears?!"The scar flared—a natural sigil, ancient and defiant.The lightning halted midair.
The cloud-eye trembled… as if confused.Far away, atop a distant peak, the old beggar leaned against a tree, watching the storm.
He smiled faintly, murmuring:"So it's true… Heaven's Dao isn't heartless. It's forbidden to feel. And it's been waiting—waiting for someone brave enough to weep for all living beings."Slowly, the storm clouds dispersed.Amid the temple ruins, the stone statue crumbled completely—revealing a small bronze cauldron beneath.
New characters had appeared on its surface:"Tears of true grief are the key—
they open the path home."Xie Wuchen leaned against the broken wall, his memories still fragmented—
but his grip on Ah Shu's hand was iron-tight.He turned to Bai Ying:"Take me to the Rebirth Well. I must tell my mother—
her tears… were not shed in vain."Bai Ying nodded, her own eyes glistening.And unseen by all, the rusted iron key in Xie Wuchen's sleeve hummed softly—
resonating with the cauldron,
answering a will that had slept for ten thousand years.(End of Chapter Five)