"She thought she could contain the High Demons. Her Universe Ring could tie up even the deadliest of weapons, her Red Armillary Sash powerful enough to choke whole armies, and the flaming wheels at her feet allowed her to soar above the Heavens. She charged into the battle thirsty for blood, but it was her own blood that was shed."

Demise of Nezha—An Investiture of High Immortals

CHAPTER EIGHT

Like a giant berating its next meal with a snarl on its lips, Donghwa's statue stared at me out of its cruel purple eyes. The candles on the multiple rusty candelabras flickered and quivered, playing a game of catching shadows with the light and the wall. Brown rust met peeling red flakes of paint crumbing from the pillars, and lacerated yellow ribbons of paper fluttered in the afternoon breeze.

In a room where the stone statues of the High Immortals bore down on its worshipers with a callous glare, I was nothing but an insignificant speck of dust. I lost my home, my friends, and now I was kneeling in front of stone figurines and praying for their help.

I shouldn't cast my hopes on them. They'd broken my trust over and over again, but Zhenjin had faith in them. Biyu believed in them. Why was their faith so strong, even when they weren't rewarded for their loyalty? On what basis was their faith rooted?

I scanned the row of idols on the altar—from the red, angry face of KwanKong to the golden hoop of Nezha, and finally to the statue standing on the far right.

A man in lilac robes, cold eyes that shone violet, a pale hand that held an elaborate fan, white hair that hung past his shoulders, and a sneer on his face.

"Look," I told Donghwa's statue. "I don't care if you're good or evil, or whose side you took during the heavenly wars. I'm begging you, tell me what to do now. I can't go into the Palace like this."

They would kill me on the spot, and everyone I love would be as good as dead. "I've begged you for years, prayed for you. If you ever cared for the mortals, I beg you, show me a heaven-forsaken sign."

The silence of the temple persevered, disturbed only when the wooden tag of the chimes struck the hollow steel bars. In this silence, I heard the chattering of my teeth, felt the tremble of my fingers twisted so hard, they were deathly white, and tasted the bitter taste of crushing defeat.

"Eighteen Hells, you're a High Immortal! You're supposed to help the mortals!"

"That is no way to address the High Immortals, isn't it?"

A monk walked out from the right side of the altar. He was a trivial sight among the bountiful offerings and Credits tossed into the large bronze bowl by the altar. Around his neck rested heavy brown beads the size of chicken eggs where squarish runes were etched onto them in gold letters. The lack of contact with the sun was reflected in the telltale, deathlike pallor of his face. He looked more monster than human.

He clasped his hands before his chest and bowed.

"Aren't they all knowing and powerful?" Tears rolled down my cheeks. "Shouldn't they help us?"

The monk hobbled forward. "Many have asked that question, my child. But have you ever asked yourself this: If the High Immortals were to grant the wishes of every mortal, wouldn't that make the mortals immortal?"

I wiped my eyes with my sleeve. "I want them to help me."

The monk smiled. "Everyone wants help. But do they seek help, or an easy way out?"

"I just want an answer," I whispered. The bruises on my body throbbed, my head pounded, and I wanted to sink into a deep, dark sleep where no one could touch me. Realizing that my face was exposed, I hid my face behind my sleeve.

"Sweet child." The monk placed a hand on my arm. "I have no intentions to mock you. This is a holy place. Only the High Immortals have the power to judge you."

"You're their messenger, aren't you?" I asked. "Why are they hiding from us?"

The monk smiled. "If you truly want the High Immortals' help, go to the Forest of a Thousand Faces. You will receive what you seek."

I had never heard of such a place. Was he playing me?

"You lie," I said.

"The Forest of a Thousand Faces is outside Jade City at the foot of the mountain called the Devil's Fingers. But I warn you, the Forest of a Thousand Faces is a cursed place. It is where High Immortal Donghwa was rumored to reside in, and if you wander in too deep, you will lose your face. All the faces you see inside, hanging from the boughs and floating on the rivers, are the faces of those unfortunate enough to be caught by Donghwa. Whatever you desire, think carefully and decide whether it is worth losing your face."

The monk's eyes seemed to flash violet. "Good luck."

With that, he retracted into the shadows.

I stood in front of the altar, dumbfounded.

A friend? The only friends I have were all locked and shackled in the Imperial Dungeons.

He wants you there, a little voice in my head said. He wants you to find him.

Fumbling about my pockets, I realized had no provisions, no money. Then, my eyes fell upon the offering bowl. Looking at the fresh fruits and other unperishable food, my stomach rumbled.

I was about to rob the High Immortals. Should Biyu be here, he would shake his head and say, "The High Immortals will take back what you have stolen from them. Three times the crime, three times the retribution."

I might as well be doomed already. What is the worst that could happen? It isn't stealing if no one is going to eat or use them.

I yanked off one of the red altar clothes and emptied the entire bowl of Credits into it. I gathered as much food as I my arms could hold and tied everything up into two bundles. I let my hair loose and tied it up in a single braid over my shoulders, and I shoved the cherry-blossom haircomb under the altar.

There was nothing I wanted more than to have Biyu with me. Perhaps Gui was back in the Jade Palace now, and the news of my death had reached Biyu and fanned around Zichuan Theater like a forest fire. Sarna Jinyu, the Facechanging student prodigy, dead.

If howls could shake the world, it would be shattered hopes scintillating under the burning scab of a sun.

Last of all, I lifted one of the several high straw hats where a long later of muslin hung across the entire rim, concealing the wearer from the outside world. It was to shield the monks' eyes from indecency, but now, I needed it to hide my face from the judgment of others.

The streets of the Jade City were clogged with people. The waste man passed me, balancing two buckets of faeces perfectly on the staff slung across his shoulders. Women nudged their children aside as he passed, more perturbed by the waste man's presence than mine. Glass jewelry glinted off the white cloths spread across counters, and the smell of steamed buns perforated the air. I was tempted to sit in a corner and eat some of the food I took from the temple, but I wanted to leave the city as soon as possible.

Walking down the road, I found an empty carriage where a man sat on the driver's seat, chewing a stalk of wheat in a most bored manner. It must have been a slow day for business.

"Hello," I said. "Can you take me to the Forest of a Thousand Faces?"

The stalk of wheat fell from his lips.

"Forest of a Thousand Faces?" he said incredulously. "It's a place of death. No, I will not go there, missus. People go missing or crazy even walking around the forest."

"I'll give you ten golden Credits."

The man frowned.

"There ain't no way in Eighteen Hells you've got that much gold on you."

I showed him the money, and his eyes gleamed.

"Twenty golden Credits," he finally said. "I'll leave you at the border. Ain't nearing that place of evil."

I had more than enough Credits. "Take me there."

The driver gave me a look of disbelief and gestured toward the carriage. As I climbed in, he raised his hands and motioned his forehead in quick swipes—warding signs. I snorted. If I was really an evil spirit in human disguise, I would have eaten him first without haggling for a ride out of town.

The whip cracked, and the carriage jerked into motion. Once the clean, colorful buildings of the Jade City started to fade into tumbledown shacks, the rumored darkness of the Forest of a Thousand Faces crept along the road, breathing damp air into the sky, sinking its teeth into the cracked roads. Sharp rocks were strewn all across the road, and tall twisted trees heralded the evening sky.

The sound of wooden wheels rolling over jagged rocks matched the pounding of my heart.

I could be walking straight into the pits of Hell. The Immortalist lores said Hell consisted of eighteen levels, each worse than the last. The first level was a yawning cavern of darkness where crows cawed, and bats beat their wings together, crying out the sins of those who failed to pass the Hell King's test. You could hear the screams of tormented souls, the shrieks of agony as they were dipped into pots of boiling oil. Eyes were gouged, tongues were ripped from the roots with fiery hot iron hooks.

The Forest of a Thousand Faces made me shrink into a ball of despair. All around, the foreboding feeling of being watched weighed down upon me like the sky trying to crush Pangu. There was no cry of birds, no fragrance of flowers, no sweet singing of stridulating crickets or even the ever-stinky pinch of tree sap. It was as if the forest was dead. Yet, it was alive. Alive with something supernatural, invisible to the human eye.

Even the driver quaked from head to toe, barely able to keep the reins steady. The carriage drew to an abrupt stop, and he pushed the curtains apart.

"I ain't going any further, missus," his words came in breathy, shallow gasps.

I slid off the carriage. My boots found purchase in damp earth where dark green blades poked through the dark soil like needles on a pincushion. There was the crack of a whip, and the carriage flew off in the opposite direction, seeming to put as much distance as possible between it and the forest.

Hands closed around my string of items, I stepped into the forest.