That eye was staring at me.
It wasn't human. Slitted pupils, golden yellow, shrinking into a thin line just like a snake's. But it was way bigger than any snake's eye—its pupil alone was the size of a fist, and the whole eye filled up every bit of space at the well's bottom. It was as if all the endless darkness down there was nothing more than its eye socket.
I froze at the edge of the well, unable to move a muscle.
It wasn't just fear—though I was terrified. There was something in that eye pressing down on me, like an invisible hand on my shoulders, pinning me right where I stood.
My father's voice was gone.
In its place came a low, rumbling sound, as if rising from deep within the earth:
"Another one from the Chen family… here again."
It wasn't my father.
The eye was speaking.
It had no lips, no tongue, yet the voice clearly came up from the well. Every word hit my chest like a hammer.
"Who… who are you?" I forced out through gritted teeth.
"Who am I?" The eye blinked. Slow. Its lid slid shut from top to bottom, like a heavy stone door closing slowly, then opening again. "Your Chen folks call me 'the Well.' But that's not my name. That's the name of my cell."
"You're locked inside the well?"
The eye didn't answer. It just stared at me, its pupil widening slightly, as if examining something interesting.
"Grandson of Chen Jingxing," it said. "Great-great-great-grandson of Chen Yuandao. Seventh generation of the Chen family's Yin travelers. You're younger than your grandfather, but the stench on you… it's stronger."
"What stench?"
"The stench of death."
Its pupil snapped back into a thin line.
"You carry the breath of the dead. Not just on you—seeping out from your bones. You were already dead once… when you were born."
I froze.
Dead once when I was born?
What did that mean?
I was about to press further, but the eye suddenly began to sink. Its golden glow dimmed, like a lamp being slowly snuffed out. Darkness surged up from the well, swallowing the eye whole.
"Don't go!" I leaned over the edge and shouted down. "Where's my father? Where is he?"
No reply.
Only a cold wind blew up from the well, making the hairs on my face stand on end.
Then I heard my father's voice again.
Fainter, farther away than before, as if coming from somewhere impossibly deep:
"Jiu'er… the path back to the living… don't look back…"
The voice vanished.
The darkness at the well's bottom settled again, and the black water surface reappeared, smooth as a mirror. No bronze coffin was reflected in it—only my own face.
I had a face.
Just like always.
The faceless version of me that had appeared in that eye was gone.
I leaned over the well, gasping for breath. My heart was pounding so hard it felt like it would jump right out of my throat.
The eye said I'd been dead once when I was born.
It said the stench of death seeped from my bones.
Grandpa had never told me any of this.
I touched the black jade pendant around my neck. It was still cold, but somehow a little colder than before—barely noticeable, unless you paid close attention.
Father was down there.
Somewhere at the bottom of the well. The cold of the pendant told me he was below, somewhere both close and far away.
But I couldn't go down.
Father had said "don't come down," and the eye had spoken words I didn't fully understand, but neither had outright stopped me. What really held me back was the line Grandpa had written in the Yin Travel Records:
"Once you descend the well, never look back. To look back is to stay in the underworld forever."
I didn't know what waited below. But if I went down and never came back, no one would save Grandpa.
I slid the Seven-Macq Soul-Cutting Sword back into its sheath at my waist and stood up from the well edge.
There would be time.
I had to find a way to go down… and come back up.
I turned to leave, but just as I took one step, a faint sound came from behind me.
Water.
The sound of the well water churning.
I spun around sharply—nothing. The black surface was calm again, not even a ripple.
But I'd heard it clear as day.
What's more, the sound hadn't come from the well.
It had come from right behind me.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood straight up.
I didn't turn around. I walked forward slowly, step by step, off the platform and onto the stone steps.
The sound of water followed.
When I hurried, it hurried. When I slowed, it slowed.
Always three steps behind me.
I didn't dare look back. Grandpa had said: when traveling the Yin path, if you hear water behind you, never turn. It wasn't water—it was the River of Forgetfulness from the underworld. Turn, and the waters would drag you down, pull you into the underworld, never to return.
I gripped the Soul-Cutting Sword tight, gritted my teeth, and kept going down.
The stone steps stretched on.
I didn't know how long I walked—maybe the