Das Grab von Qin Shi Huang

Kapitel 16

"She loved you madly because you were strong, dashing, unrestrained, possessive, and devoted to her; with just a snap of her fingers, you would go through fire and water for her, even kill for her—" The astrologer looked down at the lifeless woman, a strange sadness flowing in his icy green eyes, "There is no other living man in the world who could meet her requirements so perfectly. I told you long ago, you were her perfect lover."

"I'm her dream man, you stupid woman." The White Tiger's hands flashed out, unexpectedly grabbing the astrologer by the neck. He used a crossed strangulation technique, powerful enough to break a person's neck instantly. But no matter how much he poured his anger into his iron-like wrists, the astrologer, who should have died long ago, still smiled, looking at him with a sorrowful gaze.

"How powerful is the human spirit! Due to someone's wish, I was given the curse of 'never withering, never fading,' and from then on, death could never come near me." The astrologer calmly pried open the white tiger's wrist, and even though the white tiger used all its strength, it could not stop the astrologer's surging power. "In a sense, you are the same as me."

The White Tiger is the nightmare king that Narcissus can only see in her dreams. When she awakens and her consciousness regains control of her body, this perfect lover vanishes without a trace. In other words, the White Tiger is another side of her consciousness, a concrete manifestation of her subconscious. She is not satisfied with all her suitors, but creates them in her fantasies, regulating their every action according to her ideal image. Therefore, they fall deeply in love with each other. She is the White Tiger, and the White Tiger is her. Those evil deeds hidden beneath the constraints of moral norms, things she wanted to do but dared not, the White Tiger carried out without hesitation, such as murder.

"The person you love has always been yourself!" the astrologer sighed deeply.

The narcissus of day and the white tiger of night are two people destined to meet but not to stay together. Only by eliminating one of them can the other become a complete human. She gave up her own body and life, choosing the white tiger's rebirth, which means that she has finally found a man she is willing to exchange her life for. She loves him more than she loves herself.

Ultimately, she gave him life.

White Tiger, his face ashen, cradled her cooling corpse, the very place where his own soul had once resided. "I was but a phantom. She erased her own existence to give me this human body." He bent down, kissing the dead woman's cold lips with deep affection. A kiss from twenty years ago, finally completed now. Only for that brief moment did a fleeting tenderness flicker in White Tiger's rock-hard eyes. "I hate you to death," he swore before turning away, his body bathed in the crimson glow of the setting sun, his entire being seemingly bathed in a blood-red light. "For the rest of my life, I will use every unimaginable cruel punishment in the world to torment you! You immortal monster, I will make you suffer endless torment, making living a thousand times more painful than dying, until I curse your fate, a fate from which death cannot offer relief!"

"Welcome." The astrologer removed his hat and watched the White Tiger depart with the utmost respect.

March 8th

Birthday flower: Wild Jonquil

Flower language: Narcissus – Narcissism

Obsessed with his own reflection in the pond, he tried to embrace it but ended up falling in and drowning. The yellow daffodil is the embodiment of Narcissus, the pitiful yet laughable protagonist of Greek mythology. Therefore, its flower language is "Narcissus," meaning someone who loves themselves excessively. Those born under the blessing of this flower are extremely narcissistic. However, loving only oneself cannot cultivate romance; don't forget to give your partner some love too!

Volume Two: The Tyrant of the Other Shore Flower

The man had been staring at her strangely ever since.

Ye Zi felt a chill run down her spine; it was a cloudy morning, with heavy, leaden clouds looming over the sunlight, casting a gray haze over the ground; it was still too early, there were too few pedestrians on the road, and Ye Zi was out alone to run her business, with her father not around—all of this combined was enough to make a young girl panic under the gaze of a strange man.

He was completely covered up, his pure black overcoat outlining his tall and straight figure. However, the hair beneath his black hat displayed contrasting shades on either side: as black as night and as white as snow. When he met her furtive glance, he smiled at her with gentlemanly manners, and then walked over.

His face was paler than his gloves.

Ye Zi's heart pounded. She had vaguely heard rumors that a new astrology shop had opened on the nearby Frozen Street, only open at night and specializing in shady business. Some even vividly described how every night, the astrology shop was filled with the sound of women weeping… and the elusive astrologer's most distinctive feature was his half-black, half-white, monstrous hair! His pale face and ever-present black attire made him resemble a vampire from legends…

"Good morning, miss." The vampire had already walked up to her and asked politely, "Have you eaten?"

What a ridiculous way to greet someone—asking a breakfast vendor if they've eaten yet! This vampire has quite the Chinese flair, huh? Ye Zi answered without hesitation, "Sunshine Breakfast Shop, we serve egg pancakes, steamed rice, and spiced braised eggs. What would you like?"

Oh no! An embarrassed look appeared on the astrologer's face. What kind of breakfast does a vampire eat?! He should have already drunk his fill of human blood last night and was rushing home (no, to his coffin) to digest it!

Sure enough, the man coughed lightly and turned his head away as if embarrassed. "I've seen you sell drinks here before, the kind that people hold in their hands and drink while eating..."

"Yes, yes, yes!" Ye Zi understood what he meant and quickly opened a styrofoam box. "Of course! What do you want? Milk, yogurt, or soy milk? We have it all!"

Upon hearing the word "yogurt," the man's eyes lit up instantly. She then noticed that his eyes were a faint green, quite captivating. He took a large gulp of yogurt, as if someone suffocating had regained their breath, looking incredibly grateful. Then, something even more ridiculous happened. He stammered that he didn't have any money on him and asked if she could go home with him to get some.

Forget it, she wouldn't dare step into such a terrifying astrology shop, and besides, she had important things to do. So she generously declared that she didn't need him to pay, and the astrologer smiled strangely, "I will definitely pay you back for the yogurt."

What a strange person! Even after closing up shop, Ye Zi was still secretly pondering. She pushed her breakfast cart back to her apartment building, and before she even entered, she heard something unusual inside—not just unusual sounds, but complete silence. Her heart leaped into her throat. Had something happened to her sister? She dropped the breakfast cart and hurriedly pushed open the wooden door, only to see the stern face of her homeroom teacher, Ms. Huang.

For a short while, she just stood there, not daring to breathe, until she whispered, "Hello, Teacher Huang." Teacher Huang's eyes were sternly scrutinizing her from behind his glasses.

“You haven’t been to school for two days, Ye Zi,” Teacher Huang said bluntly. “Some people said you were sick, so I came to see just how sick you are.”

Ye Zi shifted uncomfortably, a small movement that did not escape Teacher Huang's notice.

"Where are your parents? Where did they go?" Teacher Huang slowly scanned the dirty and dilapidated house. The dwelling was undoubtedly as poor and desolate as its owner, emitting a foul stench. "It seems I came to visit at the wrong time. They've all gone to work, haven't they?"

“My mother works in another city and has been gone for more than a year,” she said, rubbing the hem of her clothes as she looked down. “My father left two days ago and hasn’t come back yet.”

Ms. Huang sighed inwardly. She could almost picture Mr. Ye in her mind: a burly man reeking of alcohol who had nearly gotten into a fight with other parents at a parent-teacher conference. After being laid off, he had no other skills to earn a living and could only make ends meet by selling breakfast at a street stall. Thinking of this, Ms. Huang's eyes softened.

"But you can't skip class without a reason. The country has given you the opportunity to receive free education, and you can't let it go to waste..."

"But I have to earn money to support my family!" Ye Zi puffed out her chest and said loudly, "Before Dad comes back, my sister and I will have to rely on me to earn our living expenses by selling breakfast! Otherwise, we will both starve to death!"

As if responding to her call, Ye Hong—her older sister—peeked out from the kitchen doorway. The two sisters looked very similar, with almost the same height and face, except for one thing—Ye Hong was much fatter than Ye Zi. She was wearing a faded work uniform, which conveniently concealed her figure. She leaned against the door, smiling sweetly at Teacher Huang.

Ye Hong is mentally challenged. It's said she wasn't born that way; she fell down a flight of stairs at the age of one, damaging her brain and leaving her with a lifelong disability. Therefore, in China, where the one-child policy was prevalent, Ye Zi was able to be born. Their family lived a very difficult life. Teacher Huang sighed silently and took out two hundred yuan from his pocket.

"Use this money for now—" Ignoring Ye Zi's attempts to stop her, she forcefully stuffed the money into Ye Hong's pocket, and Ye Hong let her do as she pleased. "However, I want to see you in class tomorrow," Teacher Huang said as she left.

"Sister, what should I do?" Ye Zi was extremely distressed. She stared at her sister's innocent smiling face and slowly moved into the inner room. The room was pitch black, with only a sliver of light coming in through a small window. She slowly crawled to the bedside and pulled out a human hand from under the stiff, tattered quilt. The icy touch made her shiver.

From her earliest memories, she lived amidst her father's beatings and her mother's sobs. Her father harbored resentment that his wife's womb was barren, causing the Ye family line to end. He deliberately pushed Ye Hong down the stairs, damaging her brain, to gain the right to a second child. Even so, her mother still gave birth to a daughter, Ye Zi… Finally, one day, unable to bear his humiliation any longer, her mother abandoned her two daughters and ran away from home that very night. Ye Zi breathed a sigh of relief for her mother, but unexpectedly, her father had a new target… However, Ye Zi remained oblivious, only wondering why her sister's belly had suddenly become so large… Just the night before, her drunken father, without any explanation, reached out his claws towards Ye Zi. However, he never expected that at that moment, the usually indifferent Ye Hong would suddenly swing a hot water bottle and smash it over his head…

Should she turn herself in? She asked herself, knowing her sister would surely be locked up in a mental hospital; or should she just throw him away? She couldn't delay any longer; the house was already reeking of a corpse. A demon cried out in her heart, "Throw him into the river to feed the fish, then no one will know." So she stood up and laboriously wrapped the body in a blanket. At that moment, a pale face suddenly appeared beside the air vent.

"Don't get your hands dirty while cooking. If you don't mind," a warm smile burned in her icy green eyes, "let me handle it, okay?"

In the darkest depths of the astrology hall, a man and a woman are having a conversation.

"It stinks, sir! Don't you say you don't eat men's food? Where did you find this stinky thing?"

With a chilling sound of flesh being torn apart, the man let out a soft sigh.

"There's nothing I can do. I drank the world's most expensive yogurt!"

December 16th

Birthday flower: Arbor-Vitae (Chinese arborvitae)

Flower language: Endurance

These flowers are dedicated to Saint Ithelante, Empress of the Holy Roman Empire. She had suffered cruelty from her family in the past.

They endured all the insults, and finally won the love and respect of their subjects. Therefore, the flower language of the Chinese cypress is – patience.

Those born under the blessing of this flower are very patient, and will endure adversity until happiness arrives.

Even setbacks, like heartbreak, don't let them get you down. This strong resilience will surely bring you happiness.

Volume Two: The Other Shore Flower and Broken Hair

Cut her hair, cut off her thoughts.

—Epigraph

I haven't seen her smile since I was born.

She was an extremely beautiful woman, with deeply furrowed brows. From the moment I opened my newborn eyes, I was deeply astonished by her beauty, her sorrow, her allure, and I was completely captivated. She personally fed me my first sip of rice porridge and called me her daughter. I thought, she must be my mother, after all.

“One day,” she emphasized, “one day, you will inherit my unparalleled beauty and captivate all beings.”

As she spoke, the white candle cast a faint yellow glow behind her, and I then noticed that even the finest jade has its flaws. Her once flawless face was now bare of hair; her smooth, round head was completely bald, devoid of any worldly ties. When I tentatively asked her a question, she stubbornly turned away, responding only with her silent back. I was still young then, my limbs not yet fully grown, unable to stand or walk, and could only watch helplessly as her thin shoulders trembled uncontrollably. At that time, I naively believed that she must have severed all her worldly ties for some man, vowing to renounce the mortal world. In this world, the only thing that can make a woman happy, angry, sad, and joyful, that can make her sometimes radiant and radiant, and sometimes heartbroken and devastated, that can manipulate fate with such power, is it not a man? The thought that a man had once flown alongside my mother, and that he might have been my young and handsome father, sent shivers down my spine. I longed to see him, to see that heartless man who abandoned his beautiful wife and daughter; I wanted it so badly I almost bit my fingers until they bled.

Not long after, the man appeared on a bitterly cold winter night. His shoulders were covered in snowflakes, even his hat and hair were white. I thought he would shake them off, but to my surprise, he simply took them off gently, and instantly, the shimmering silver light dazzled my eyes.

That wasn't snow—it was his silver hair, one side whiter than the purest snow, the other blacker than the filthiest night. He bowed slightly, as if to greet me, and then my mother ushered him inside. The candlelight flickered and went out, flickered and went out again; I don't know how much time passed, nor whether the man was gone or not. The only sound in the room was the faint, grating nibbling of mice. Just as I was drifting off to sleep, suddenly my mother let out a piercing scream:

"Cut your hair!"

I woke up abruptly, drenched in a cold sweat. The room was eerily quiet; there was no other sound except for the silent dripping of candle wax. My limbs felt weak, and I struggled to crawl to the door, calling out my mother's name. Just then, a man's feet appeared before me. He gently bent down and stroked my long, silky hair, which flowed softly in his hands. He told me that my mother was gone and would never return; from now on, I was all alone.

“When you grow up, every night when the moon is high in the sky, you must sit in the highest part of the attic and comb your long hair; do nothing else until one day, your father returns to your side,” his icy green eyes stared intently at my face, “then you may let him in, understand?”

"Mm." I nodded.

“Good boy,” his smile was as cold as ice, “you will become more and more beautiful.”

He was right. The sun rose and set day after day, my hair grew longer, I grew taller, and finally, one day, I stood up! Light silk enveloped my graceful body; I moved with delicate steps, my black hair flowing gently behind me like a silent black stream soaking the earth. What a peaceful night! As he had said, I opened the skylight in the attic, letting down my cascading, thick hair. In the soft whisper of the evening breeze and the low chirping of crickets, I slowly offered a captivating smile. At that moment, the cool moonlight shone on my face, lingering on my beauty as if reluctant to leave. I can see the pedestrians under the moonlight, frozen in place as if their very souls had been captured, instantly turning into clay figures or stone statues, existing only to worship me; I can hear the whispers of the villagers, the poems and legends passed down by scholars, overflowing with heartfelt praise for my beauty; I can hear the clattering hooves of messengers, their hooves piercing the earth, a sound that penetrates the dreams of every man, filled with longing and fantasy, as they travel from afar to come here. As the moon rises high in the sky, more and more people stand beneath my window, but I remain unhurried, offering only my signature smile each night, at the same time, in the same quantity. Some, in desperation, try to force their way in, but without exception, they are blocked by the barrier erected by the "demon-haired man," so they call me the "Thorn Beauty," offering rewards everywhere for a way to save me—all of this, I know.

The inevitable had finally arrived. A weary-looking man appeared in my sight, followed by a crowd of faces I recognized and didn't know, all of them unanimously identifying him as my father, Jin Buhuan. He married at sixteen, but abandoned his wife before he was eighteen, leaving his hometown with a woman from a theatrical troupe to wander the world. Now, the prodigal son had returned, and my father, now in his forties, finally felt a longing for home.

“Most importantly, I miss my wife and daughter,” he said. Only he could cross the barrier and enter the room to sit before me. He was indeed handsome; even though time had etched lines on his forehead, it had not diminished his looks but rather added to his mature charm—a man like him could easily bewitch any woman. His gaze was like a spring breeze, like the seaside sun, intense and fiery. He looked me up and down three times, then down and up, finally sighing with satisfaction, “I never knew I had such a beautiful daughter! She looks just like her, so much like her!”

Even if I were stunningly beautiful, so what? I chuckled inwardly, thinking, "You still discard me like trash." Yet I simply lowered my head, naturally revealing a section of my fair skin. My father suddenly fell into a daze, as if recalling some past event.

"By the way, I still don't know your daughter's name? And how old are you this year?" he asked in a kind and gentle tone.

Ignoring his surprised look, I whispered to him that my mother had always called me "Duanfa" (meaning "cut hair"). My father nodded dismissively, thinking that my mother was indeed eccentric, but there was no time or need to change my name now; he was concerned about something else.

It is said that a powerful and influential person went to great lengths to find out my father's address and sent a special envoy to propose marriage. The envoy guaranteed my father and me a life of wealth and honor, all my father had to do was bring me from this thorny house to his mansion—as my father spoke these words, his beautiful eyes sparkled with a crystalline light. Finally, he asked me:

"How about the decision your father made for you?"

I reached out and hugged my father's neck, pressing myself tightly against his chest like a child:

"Everything is up to Father to decide."

Then, my long hair, a waterfall of water, flowing without a trace, gently wrapped around my father's entire body, tightly binding him to mine. My father gasped; he couldn't breathe. My long, black hair, like ropes, bound him tightly from head to toe like a swaddle. He twisted and turned, trying to break free of my hold—

“It’s no use,” I laughed wickedly, a smile that, according to my father, surpassed the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. “Only in this way can you not leave me.”

"Who...who are you?" the father cried out in alarm.

I recalled my birth, the moment I stepped onto the ground, the clarity that followed the labor pains; I remembered leaning on my mother's warm arms, drinking my first mouthful of rice porridge; I remembered my still-weak childhood, when I could only crawl slowly on the ground; I remembered my mother's screams before she died, her bald head, and the cold look in the eyes of the freakish-haired man as he looked at me—and suddenly I understood.

I am the myriad worries on my mother's head, the strand of hair she cut off to abandon the world.

“Having inherited Mother’s will, now I’ve caught you,” I smiled, pulling my father closer to my chest. A black ocean instantly engulfed him; he was like a mummy, wrapped in a coffin woven from hair. The black hair tightly strangled his neck, preventing him from uttering a single complaint, like a deep black shroud completely covering his body. Jin Buhuan, that prodigal son, after twenty years of separation, with his bulging, lifeless white eyes, collapsed into my mother’s loving embrace, her hair adorned with broken locks.

This time, however, he could no longer be separated from her.

July 16th

Birthday flower: Greater Convolvulus

Flower language: Restraint

The large pansy is a climbing plant, about three meters tall. It climbs onto any nearby object and grows vigorously, as if to tightly entwine the object it is attached to. Therefore, its flower language is – bondage.

Those born under the blessing of this flower tend to have an exceptionally strong possessive nature, wanting to own everyone, from friends to lovers. However, this overly controlling approach can backfire. Understanding this flaw, they should reflect on it and work to improve, perhaps even readjusting their romantic relationships as well!

Volume Two: The Faceless Man Among the Red Spider Lilies (Part 1)

"Honestly, I don't think it's useful."

The girl frowned seriously, scrutinizing the man in front of her who was wearing a black cloak. Only slightly silver hair was visible under the cloak, suggesting he was an old man.

“There’s a Chinese proverb,” the man’s voice was surprisingly young, “‘Treat a dead horse as if it were alive.’ It’s quite a wise proverb, don’t you think?”

The girl was moved; she bit her lower lip hard, finally making up her mind, and sat down opposite the man. She clutched a photograph in her hand.

"Alright, I'll believe you this time. Then tell me, how can you deduce a person's current whereabouts from their birthplace and date? Is the thread of fate that runs through their life woven and pulled together by the stars in the sky?"

“Simply put, he’s missing.” The girl’s determined gaze was fixed on the astrologer. “Can you use astrology to determine his current location?”

Building No. 1 at K University, or simply Building No. 1, has always been a notorious haunted building. Built in the early 1950s in the Soviet-era architectural style, the entire building has only one main entrance. The narrow, winding corridors are dimly lit. The exterior walls are covered in yellowed ivy, and the red brick walls are long since dilapidated. Combined with the eerie atmosphere inherent in old buildings, the echoing footsteps are both desolate and loud, making even the simple act of walking through the corridors to the classrooms chilling. It is said that someone committed suicide by jumping from a classroom in Building No. 1 many years ago, further adding to its terrifying atmosphere. Therefore, despite the intense academic atmosphere at K University, where all the major libraries and study rooms (Buildings No. 2, 3, and 4) are usually packed, Building No. 1 is rarely visited. Passing by Building No. 1 at night, one can see several floors of classrooms lit up with fluorescent lights, yet completely empty. Hidden among the dark trees surrounding it, it appears even more sinister and mysterious, adding another layer of mystique to the building. The vast majority of students would rather share a table with other students and breathe stuffy, polluted air than study in this spacious and quiet classroom.

However, there may be exceptions.

For example, Yin Lian.

She's a second-year graduate student, preparing to apply for studies abroad. A GRE vocabulary book is spread out beside her; she's already reviewed the words twice and is now going through them for the third time. Graduate life isn't easy; besides coursework, she also has to dedicate herself to research, writing papers, and so on. Only in her spare time can she pursue her own interests. Last semester, she did reasonably well on the TOEFL, scoring 673 (68+68+66) + 4.5, barely passing. She'd already taken the GRE once, but wasn't satisfied with the score and plans to retake it. Ultimately, she doesn't plan to study abroad on an F2 visa; she aims to get into a good school on her own.