8. Building the Celestial Palace

Su Zichu led Lin Guichen through several doorways, across a few small bridges, past a garden, and finally to the rear courtyard of the Chen ancestral residence, where they met Third Master Chen once again.

By now, Third Master Chen had changed out of his black robe and donned a ceremonial outfit of dark blue silk, edged with azure, lending him a far graver air.

“Are we going now?” Lin Guichen asked. “Shouldn’t we see Chen Linyu first?”

“By rights, I ought to take you to pay your respects to the bride, let her have a look at you,” Third Master Chen replied. “But, well, Yu’er’s temperament…”

He trailed off with a shake of his head and a wry smile, saying no more.

Lin Guichen understood well enough. The bride only liked women; no matter how respectfully he presented himself, she would never look twice at him. Better, then, to meet the ancestors first and settle things before worrying about such matters.

“Dusk is near,” Third Master Chen noted, glancing at the darkening sky. “Best bring you to meet the ancestral deity who protects this house. After night falls, things become a bit troublesome.”

Remembering all the unclean things rumored to lurk in this ancestral home, Lin Guichen had no objection.

Third Master Chen walked ahead, supported by the young maiden, and Lin Guichen followed silently, dragging his lame leg behind.

Soon, they reached the back courtyard. Before long, a dignified, elegant ancestral hall came into view, its roof of grey tiles and blue bricks adorned with ornate ridge beasts and decorative tiles.

The air around the hall was solemn and still—not even the chirp of an insect could be heard. The silence was so deep, it felt almost uncanny.

“Outsiders may not enter the ancestral hall,” Third Master Chen said. “We’ll go around. The spirit burial ground isn’t far.”

They skirted the hall. On the way, Lin Guichen recalled what Su Zichu had told him: there were three small paths behind the Chen residence, each leading to a different spirit burial site.

As dusk descended, they rounded the hall and saw a winding path ahead, splitting into three branches that disappeared into the deepening gloom.

Following the middle path for some time, passing through another arched gate, they left the bounds of the Chen estate.

At the end of the path lay a patch of dim, chilling mist, within which the vague outline of some structure could just be discerned.

Without hesitation, Third Master Chen stepped into the fog.

Lin Guichen had no choice but to follow. The cold mist bit to the bone, suffused with a sinister chill that was hard to name.

Before long, a gatehouse loomed ahead, nearly twenty feet high, its massive pillars carved with strange patterns—too crude and abstract to be understood.

Through the archway, the shadowy form of a building could be glimpsed deeper within the mist.

Lin Guichen looked up.

Above the gate hung a plaque, and the three gilded characters emblazoned upon it made him freeze, unable to believe his eyes.

“Southern Heavenly Gate?” he murmured.

“Yes,” Third Master Chen replied softly, pausing. “This is one of the spirit burial rites—the ‘Heaven-Piling Palace.’”

“Heaven-Piling Palace… Heavenly Palace? Southern Heavenly Gate?” Lin Guichen felt bewildered.

In the myths of Earth, the Southern Heavenly Gate was the entryway to the celestial palace.

But why had it become a spirit burial site in this world?

Moreover, in all his predecessor’s memories, there was no mention of celestial courts or Southern Heavenly Gates.

“Let’s go inside; you’ll see,” Third Master Chen said, saying no more. Supported by Su Zichu, he led Lin Guichen through the so-called Southern Heavenly Gate.

The mist inside was as dark and chilling as before.

Lin Guichen found himself wondering if this cold, ghostly fog was what people here called ‘immortal vapor’—the very essence of the heavenly palace. The thought made him stifle a laugh.

But his smile faded instantly when the building concealed within the mist finally emerged into view, and his whole body went rigid.

It was a house.

Just as a bamboo house is built with bamboo, a wooden house with timber, a stone house with rocks—this house was constructed entirely of white bones. From finger bones to femurs, every bone was interlocked and stacked in a way that defied all logic, forming walls and a roof.

It was a house of bones.

Who could say what held the bones together? Through gaps and holes in the structure, one could glimpse the darkness within.

Inside the bone house, pale skeletons hung in a jumble—some suspended high, others low, each facing a different direction, the arrangement chaotic and bizarre.

To be precise, only half-skeletons hung within: every one lacked lower limbs, consisting solely of upper body bones.

How they hung there without collapsing was anyone’s guess.

From experience, Lin Guichen could tell at a glance—these were human bones.

And all of them were lower limb bones.

Lower limbs built the bone house, upper bodies hung inside?

Looking closer, he saw droplets of some gray, turbid liquid seeping from the base of each skeleton’s spine, falling with a faint hiss to the ground, where they evaporated into wisps of gray smoke.

Could all the surrounding mist have come from this? Lin Guichen suddenly felt suffocated, afraid to breathe.

Though his nerves were steady, the sight before him sent an involuntary chill down his spine.

This was supposed to be the heavenly palace?

What a joke…

He simply couldn’t reconcile this eerie bone house with the pure, radiant celestial palaces of legend.

“This… This is a spirit burial?” he managed to ask Third Master Chen.

“This is the ‘Heaven-Piling Palace’ spirit burial,” Third Master Chen confirmed, nodding. He glanced at Lin Guichen and added, “You’re holding up better than I expected.”

“This is the heavenly palace?” Lin Guichen still couldn’t comprehend.

“It’s just a name,” Third Master Chen replied, sounding wistful. “In legend, the heavenly palace is a place where gods are enshrined. Immortals have no need of legs; they drift on clouds, and the palace itself moves as if it has legs of its own, always eluding discovery. Doesn’t this spirit burial fit the description?”

He sighed. “Those who wish to become gods after death must rely on the spirit burial rite: by piling up their own palace, they may become spirit-deities when they die.”

Lin Guichen gazed at the bone house in silence, at a loss for words.

It was the first time he realized this world was far stranger and more deranged than he had ever imagined.

After a long pause, he finally asked, “Is this how the ancestral deity came to be?”

“Of course,” Third Master Chen replied.

“Are all spirit burials like this?” Lin Guichen could not help but ask.

“Our family has two more: the Spirit Tree and the Sun-Forging Furnace. You’ll see them soon,” Third Master Chen said with a sigh. “All of these are the work of generations of ancestors. Without them, our clan would not have endured.”

“How were these spirit burial rites created?” Lin Guichen asked, unable to resist.

“Who knows?” Third Master Chen shot him a look and shook his head. “Enough questions. There are things you don’t need to know. Once you’ve met the ancestral deity, you can live here in peace.”

“Come with me.”

With that, he released Su Zichu’s supporting arm and stepped up to the bone house’s threshold, where he knelt upon the intertwined bones.

Kneeling before the door, Third Master Chen produced three sticks of pitch-black incense and several yellow papers marked with strange symbols. He lit the incense and burned the papers, then began to chant in a low, reverent voice, his words drifting like a murmured prayer:

“Forebears and ancestors, your virtue shines bright; sacred rites are clear, may the spirits descend. We recall your grace, feel your deep kindness, with rites observed in proper order, may the spirits witness this… pray accept these offerings and be gladdened.”

As his deep voice intoned the chant, the three incense sticks before the bone house smoldered, their thin white smoke seeming to be drawn by a breeze into the dim interior.

Lin Guichen stood quietly not far behind him.

By Third Master Chen’s rules, as an outsider—even one marrying in—he had no right to kneel to the ancestral deity.

Just then—

The bone house gave a faint tremor. The half-skeletons hanging within, which had been so haphazardly arranged, began to slowly turn, every skull now gazing out toward the door.