In the West, death comes as one — the Reaper with his scythe, the ferryman on his silent river. He is singular, inevitable, and alone.
But in the East, even death walks in balance.
Long ago, in a city of damp alleyways and oil lamps trembling in the mist, two constables served the law — Xie Bi'an and Fan Wujiu. They were brothers not by blood but by oath, bound by honor and trust. One night, as they pursued a fugitive through the storm, they were separated by the swollen tide of a river. Fan waited at the appointed bridge until dawn, soaked and trembling, unwilling to abandon his friend. When the sun rose, his body was found upright against the railing, dead from exhaustion yet still facing the water.
Xie returned too late. Grief turned to guilt; guilt to despair. He took his own life beside his fallen brother, swearing to find him again in whatever realm lay beyond.
When the lords of the underworld saw their faith, they made them guardians of the passage between worlds — Heibai Wuchang, the Black and White Wardens. Now, when a soul departs its body, it is these two who come. The White Warden bears a fan and a gentle smile, guiding the pure and the kind. The Black carries chains that rattle like thunder, binding those who fled justice. Together they walk the misty roads between life and death, their lanterns glimmering like twin stars over an endless shore.
It is said that on certain nights, when the rain falls without end, one may glimpse two shadows crossing the bridge. One pale as moonlight, one dark as ink.They pause, side by side — neither living nor dead, forever keeping their promise.
For even in death, the East remembers: Fidelity endures longer than life, and sometimes the gods we meet were once only men who refused to forget.