Lin Mu didn't sleep well all night.
His dreams were full of that white-robed youth—standing at the cliff's edge, holding the black stone, surrounded by countless people. Their faces were blurry, but the old man's voice echoed over and over:
"Reincarnation Sovereign, do you regret?"
Every time the question came, Lin Mu wanted to answer. But every time, just as the words reached his lips, the dream shattered.
When dawn came, he opened his eyes and stared at the beam overhead for a while.
"Host, you're awake?" The trash can poked its head out of his robe. "Had a nightmare?"
"Not really a nightmare." Lin Mu sat up. "Just tired."
He got out of bed and pushed open the window.
Outside, it was already bright. Sunlight streamed in, driving out the room's chill. In the distance came the shouts of outer disciples practicing—everything seemed normal.
But Lin Mu knew it wasn't.
The old man's words were still spinning in his head.
The trash can wasn't a system. It was from his past life.
The resentment Zhou Yuan collected belonged to the original owner—which meant it belonged to his past self.
So who was he in his past life? Reincarnation Sovereign? Sounded impressive. But if he really was a Sovereign, how did he die? How did he reincarnate? How did he end up as a handyman at Tianxuan Sect?
And that character "Bury"—what was it really sealing?
"Host." The trash can's voice interrupted his thoughts. "What are your plans today?"
Lin Mu thought for a moment.
"Going to find Wang Tiezhu first."
"What for?"
"Promised him yesterday." Lin Mu tucked the trash can into his robe. "Said I'd help him with his emotions today. Can't stand him up."
By the time he stepped out, the sun had fully risen.
Lin Mu circled around several rows of buildings and walked to that quiet corner from yesterday. Wang Tiezhu was already there waiting. When he saw Lin Mu, his eyes lit up.
"Lin Yuan!"
Lin Mu walked over and sat down across from him.
Wang Tiezhu looked much better than yesterday—the dark circles under his eyes had faded. Above his head floated a faint yellow glow, even paler and more diffuse than yesterday's.
"Sleep well last night?" Lin Mu asked.
"Pretty well." Wang Tiezhu said. "Haven't slept that soundly in a long time."
He paused, then scratched his head sheepishly.
"Um... could you suck some more out for me today? I'm starting to feel a bit off again."
Lin Mu glanced down at the trash can.
The trash can poked its head out of his robe and studied the yellow glow above Wang Tiezhu's head.
"Host, he hasn't accumulated much emotion yet. If you suck now, the effect might not be great." It whispered. "Better to wait until it's denser, then clean it all at once."
Lin Mu nodded and relayed this to Wang Tiezhu.
Wang Tiezhu looked a bit disappointed but nodded anyway.
"Alright, I'll wait a bit longer then." He stood up. "I'll head off now. Still have work today."
He took a few steps, then suddenly stopped and turned back to look at Lin Mu.
"Lin Yuan."
"Yeah?"
"Be careful with Zhou Yuan."
Lin Mu blinked.
"What do you mean?"
Wang Tiezhu's expression turned somewhat strange.
"Last night, I saw him lurking around your area." He said. "Circled around several times. No idea what he was doing."
Lin Mu's heart tightened.
"When?"
"Around midnight." Wang Tiezhu said. "I saw him when I got up to pee. Didn't think much of it at first, but later it struck me as weird—why would he be in your area in the middle of the night?"
Lin Mu was silent for two seconds.
Midnight.
That was exactly when the old man had been outside his house talking to him.
If Zhou Yuan had been there too—
"Got it." Lin Mu said. "Thanks."
Wang Tiezhu waved and left.
Lin Mu stood there, watching his figure disappear down the path.
"Host." The trash can's voice was tense. "Zhou Yuan was there last night too?"
"Yeah."
"Then... did he see that old man?"
Lin Mu didn't answer.
He remembered how the old man had suddenly stopped before leaving, saying "someone's coming." At the time, he'd thought it was nothing. But now—
The old man must have sensed Zhou Yuan.
Lin Mu turned and walked back.
His steps were much faster than before.
Back in his room, he pushed open the door and scanned the space.
Everything looked the same as when he'd left. Table, bed, oil lamp—all untouched.
But something felt off.
"Bro Bin."
"Yeah?"
"Check the room for anything unusual."
The trash can jumped out of his robe, rolled around the floor, flipped open its lid, and scanned the area with its tiny eyes.
After about half a cup of tea's time, it stopped.
"Host, nothing unusual. But..."
"But what?"
"But there's a very faint scent." The trash can said. "Exactly the same as what I smelled on that old man yesterday."
Lin Mu blinked.
The old man had been in his room?
He walked to the bed and examined it carefully. The blanket was folded neatly, the pillow in its usual place—no signs of disturbance.
But under the pillow, something was pressed.
Lin Mu picked it up. It was a slip of paper.
Palm-sized, folded neatly. He opened it. On it was a single line:
"Tonight, midnight, Reflection Cliff."
No signature.
But Lin Mu recognized the handwriting.
It was the old man's.
Lin Mu tucked the note away and sat on the bed's edge, silent for a long time.
"Host, are you going?"
Lin Mu thought about it.
"Yeah."
"What if it's a trap?"
"Still have to go." Lin Mu said. "If he really wanted to harm me, he'd have done it yesterday. No need to wait till now."
The trash can was silent for a moment, then nodded.
"I'll go with you."
Midnight.
The moon was fuller than last night, casting silver light across the mountain path.
Lin Mu walked alone toward Reflection Cliff. The night wind was cold, whipping his robes noisily. All around was silent—only his own footsteps, one after another.
The trash can huddled in his robe, not making a sound.
When he reached Reflection Cliff, the old man was already there.
Same spot. Same rock. Same fishing rod extended outward. He sat with his back to Lin Mu at the cliff's edge, his line dangling in the night breeze, swaying gently.
Lin Mu walked over and stopped three paces behind him.
"I'm here."
The old man didn't turn.
"Sit."
Lin Mu sat down beside him.
Below the cliff was pure darkness—nothing visible. Wind blew up from the depths, carrying that bone-deep chill. The fishing rod was still, the line hanging in midair like a thin thread.
"Caught anything?" Lin Mu asked.
The old man smiled.
"Nothing at all."
"Then why keep fishing?"
The old man turned to look at him.
"Because I'm waiting."
"For what?"
"For you."
Lin Mu was silent.
The old man set down his rod and turned to face him directly.
Moonlight fell on his face—still that ordinary face. But now, something new had entered his eyes. Fatigue, perhaps. Or relief.
"That question you asked last night—I can answer it today."
Lin Mu's heart stirred.
"What question?"
"About that trash can."
Lin Mu looked down at his robe.
The trash can poked its head out, its two little eyes blinking at the old man.
The old man looked at it, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smile.
"What do you call it?"
"Bro Bin."
The old man blinked. Then he burst out laughing.
The laughter carried far on the night wind, startling a night bird from the cliff's edge.
"Bro Bin... hahaha... Bro Bin..." He laughed until tears nearly came. "Reincarnation Sovereign, oh Reincarnation Sovereign. If you knew you'd named yourself that, I wonder if you'd be furious enough to come back from the dead."
Lin Mu was stunned.
"You mean... I named it myself?"
The old man wiped his eyes and nodded.
"It wasn't always a trash can." He said. "It used to be a mirror."
A mirror?
Lin Mu looked down at the trash can in his robe—dusty, round, with two scratches on its lid. By all appearances, a trash can. How could it be a mirror?
"That mirror was called the Reincarnation Mirror." The old man continued. "It was your past life's lifebound treasure. It could see into people's hearts, store emotions, seal away memories. Before you fell, you sealed it away and told it to wait for your reincarnation."
He paused.
"But it waited too long."
Lin Mu's heart stirred.
"Too long?"
"Three thousand years." The old man said. "You reincarnated for three thousand years. It waited for you for three thousand. Waited so long, it forgot what it was."
He pointed at the trash can.
"It thought it was a trash can, because every day it saw things people had thrown away. But it didn't understand—those weren't the things it was meant to collect. What it was meant to collect was human hearts."
Lin Mu looked down at the trash can.
The trash can cracked its lid open a slit, its two little eyes looking up at him with confusion.
"Host... is what he said true?"
Lin Mu didn't answer.
He didn't know.
He didn't know anything.
The old man stood up, walked over to the trash can, crouched down, and reached out a hand.
"Come here."
The trash can hesitated for a moment, then jumped from Lin Mu's robe and rolled to the old man's hand.
The old man placed his hand on its lid and closed his eyes.
After a moment, he opened them.
"Its memories are still sealed." He said. "You'll need to recover more of your power first. Then they can be unsealed."
He stood up, looking at Lin Mu.
"But soon."
Lin Mu looked up at him.
"What do you mean?"
The old man didn't answer. Instead, he pointed at Lin Mu's right hand.
Lin Mu looked down.
The character "Bury" on his ring finger had grown brighter. The dark gold lines pulsed faintly in the moonlight, as if alive.
"What's sealed is about to come out." The old man said. "When it does, you'll know who you are."
Lin Mu was silent for a long time.
Then he asked a question:
"What about Zhou Yuan?"
The old man raised an eyebrow.
"What about him?"
"You said yesterday that the resentment he collected was from my past life." Lin Mu said. "Why did he collect it? What does he want?"
The old man was silent for a moment.
"That, I can't tell you."
"Why not?"
"Because that's your business." The old man said. "I can tell you what happened, but not why. The 'why'—you'll have to find that out yourself."
Lin Mu stared at him for a few seconds.
"So you called me here today just to tell me the trash can is a mirror?"
"No." The old man shook his head. "I called you here to give you this."
He reached into his robe and pulled something out.
A stone.
Black. Fist-sized. Surface smooth as a mirror.
Identical to yesterday's.
Lin Mu was stunned.
"This—"
"Yesterday's shattered. This is another one." The old man held out the stone. "Take it. You'll need it later."
Lin Mu accepted the stone.
Warmth spread through his palm, exactly like yesterday.
But this time, the stone didn't shatter.
It lay quietly in his hand, its black surface reflecting the moonlight, reflecting his face.
"Why didn't it shatter?"
"Because the time isn't right." The old man said. "When it does shatter, you'll know everything."
He turned and walked back to the cliff's edge, picking up his fishing rod again.
"Go." He said without turning back. "Next time we meet might be a long while."
Lin Mu stood up, looking at him.
"What's your name?"
The old man was silent for a moment.
"They call me Fisherman." He said. "Your past life gave me that name."
Lin Mu nodded.
He tucked the stone into his robe and turned to leave.
After a dozen paces, he suddenly heard the old man's voice:
"Oh, and one more thing."
He stopped and turned back.
The old man had his back to him, rod extended, line dangling in the night breeze.
"Be careful with Zhou Yuan." He said. "That man's hatred for you is more complicated than it seems."
Lin Mu's heart tightened.
"Then he—"
"He's been raising that heart." The old man said. "For three years now."
Raising a heart?
Lin Mu was stunned.
The old man said nothing more.
Lin Mu stood there waiting for a moment, but when it became clear the old man wasn't going to continue, he turned and left.
On the way back, clouds covered the moon.
The mountain path grew darker. Lin Mu walked slower than before, his mind full of the old man's words.
Raising a heart.
For three years.
Starting the year the original owner died?
"Host." The trash can's voice came from his robe. "What are you thinking about?"
"Thinking about Zhou Yuan." Lin Mu said. "Why would he raise that heart?"
"Raise it for what?"
"I don't know." Lin Mu said. "But it's definitely not good."
He paused.
"Bro Bin."
"Yeah?"
"If someone collects another person's resentment and raises it for three years—what would come out of it?"
The trash can was silent for a long time.
"Host... that question... I don't even want to think about it."
Lin Mu didn't ask further.
He quickened his pace and headed down the mountain.
By the time he got back to his room, it was well past midnight.
Lin Mu pushed open the door, lit the oil lamp, and set the black stone on the table.
The stone lay quietly, its surface smooth as a mirror, reflecting the lamp's flame.
He stared at it for a long time.
Then he noticed something.
In the stone's reflection, besides the flame, there was something else.
His right hand.
On his right ring finger, the character "Bury" was clearly visible.
But in the stone, it was reversed.
Lin Mu blinked.
He picked up the stone and examined it carefully in the lamplight.
The stone reflected his hand, and the character "Bury" was indeed reversed.
But if it was reversed—
What was it supposed to be?
Lin Mu stared at that reversed character for a long time.
The reversed "Bury" didn't quite look like "Bury" anymore.
It looked like another character.
But he couldn't make it out.
"Bro Bin." He held the stone out to the trash can. "Take a look at this character."
The trash can leaned in and studied it for a while.
"Host, this character... doesn't seem to be 'Bury.'"
"Then what is it?"
The trash can was silent for a moment.
"Looks like... 'Hide.'"
Hide?
Lin Mu was stunned.
Hide as in conceal?
He looked down at his right hand.
On his ring finger, the character "Bury" was clearly visible.
But if it was supposed to be "Hide"—
Then what was sealed wasn't something buried. It was something hidden away.
Lin Mu's heartbeat suddenly quickened.
He remembered what the old man had said: Sealing isn't burying the dead. It's sealing the living.
Putting away things that shouldn't exist, keeping them until the time comes to release them.
If that character was "Hide"—
Then what was hidden?
He stared at the lines on his finger for a long, long time.
The oil lamp's flame flickered. Outside the window came the night watchman's clapper.
Fifth watch.
Dawn was approaching.