Volume Two: An Eventful Autumn, With Twist Upon Twist, Chapter Eighty-Eight: Traveling Together, Strange Occurrences in Phoenix Creek

Since they were traveling together, there was nothing left to complain about. Though Yang Chengzi was still frustrated, he didn't mention the matter again. Chen Xin, ever docile, had, from the moment they left Wang Family Village, linked arms with Chang Yu. The two chatted and laughed, leaving Chen San and Yang Chengzi utterly perplexed.

Chen San glanced awkwardly at Yang Chengzi. “Shall we link arms too?”

Yang Chengzi barely restrained himself from kicking him. Heading south was only a general direction; there were countless possible destinations. Yang Chengzi himself had never been so far from home and could only rely on asking for directions and adapting as they went.

In the first few days, Chen Xin was still unaccustomed to the journey. Like Chang Yu at the start, her feet ached from walking all day, but she endured in silence. After two days, they reached a small town, where Chen San bought new men’s clothing for both Chang Yu and Chen Xin.

Finally, Chang Yu was able to shed her rough linen garb. Dressed as men, the two ethereal beauties were naturally a world apart from the oily, coarse Chen San, who was no longer the center of attention. Wherever there were girls along the way, their eyes would surreptitiously follow the three companions, Yang Chengzi in particular.

Chen San imagined otherwise, believing that some of the girls were watching him, simply because he was standing near Yang Chengzi. In truth, he’d never attracted such attention before; it was always Yang Chengzi they watched.

Chen Xin and Chang Yu now wore the attire of scholars—refined and gentle in demeanor, it was plain to see they were sons of prominent families, learned and eloquent, their scholarly air written on their very faces. Standing next to them, Chen San looked even more like a household servant.

Leaving the town, they stocked up on provisions and journeyed several hundred li southward, eventually passing through a place called Fengxi Village—a village quite unlike any Yang Chengzi had seen before.

Fengxi Village nestled within Phoenix Cry Mountain, which faced south, tail to the north, resembling a brooding hen. The locals had given it the elegant name Phoenix Cry Mountain.

Fengxi Village itself sat at the “hen’s tail,” right beneath a precipitous cliff, with a dense cluster of a hundred or so households. The village was neither large nor small, but compared to other settlements, there were no small courtyards—the houses were much larger, a single one rivaling the size of Chen San’s two rooms combined.

Farming was unnecessary here; their diet came from game in the mountains. Like in Chen Family Town, other foodstuffs were bartered for with wild meat. Thanks to the mountain’s bounty, the villagers wanted for nothing.

Upon arriving, they learned from the locals that their village sat at the “hen’s tail.” The remark made Chen San laugh heartily, but the villagers took no offense; they were used to it. “What’s so funny?” they’d say. “So long as life is good, does it matter? When the old hen broods, if you’re in the nest, how could you go wanting?”

Indeed, the benefits were plentiful—no worries over food or clothing, and the scenery was stunning.

Yang Chengzi had only read about animal-shaped mountains in books. Usually, villages would be built at the “head.” To settle at the “tail” was a novel experience. But as the villagers put it, “If you’re in the nest, how can you be neglected?”

Due to its location, Fengxi Village saw constant travelers. Anyone heading south or coming from the south had to pass the main road by the village. The locals were welcoming; every household had space to take in guests for a bit of silver, offering up hearty helpings of wild game.

After several days’ travel, they found this place most to their liking. The accommodations were spacious, and the wild game abundant. Four people could dine richly for thirty copper coins: a fish, a wild chicken, a hare, and a wild pigeon, cooked in a variety of ways. Unlike the clumsy meals Chen San could muster, the villagers served pigeon broth, steamed fish, stir-fried wild chicken, and marinated hare.

Only Yang Chengzi suffered. The aroma of wild meat was irresistible; even Chen San was drooling. Yang Chengzi was tempted, but he requested only a few green, unappetizing vegetable dishes with rice.

Chen San tried to persuade him: “Learn from Master Sui Chang—wine and meat may pass the lips, but Buddha stays in the heart. All that meat didn’t stop him from becoming a great monk.” But Yang Chengzi, stubborn as ever, simply smiled and ignored him.

Chen Xin and Chang Yu, famished from the journey, ate heartily, perhaps because it had been so long since they’d had such delicious food.

After the meal and the broth, night fell. They asked around, but no one had heard of Puxian Temple. Someone did recall that a scruffy monk had once passed through. Though penniless, the villagers, not being greedy, had let him stay a night.

The timeline and age matched; that man must have been Chan Master Du’e.

Learning that Du’e had also passed through on his way to Mount Mao, Chen San and the others felt reassured. Though they still didn’t know where their destination lay, at least they were following the same path.

Like in Chen Family Town, Fengxi Village was visited at night by the distant howls of wolves—distinctive, unmistakable cries. In places close to the mountains, such beasts abounded.

There was only one bed in the room, so naturally Chang Yu and Chen Xin shared it. The villagers offered to prepare another room for Yang Chengzi and Chen San, but Yang Chengzi refused outright. Chang Yu and Chen Xin were relieved; with the men nearby, they could sleep in peace.

All was well, and everyone turned in early. But in the middle of the night, the soul alarm bell Yang Chengzi had placed by the bed began to ring and tremble.

Yang Chengzi awoke with a start, sat up, and silenced the bell with a thought. But now he couldn’t sleep. He reached out with his senses, searching for the presence of spirits. Outside, the thunderous rumble of carriages and the stampede of many running people approached.

Yang Chengzi’s brow furrowed. The yin energy was growing stronger, more and more spirits gathering, until suddenly, all sound ceased.

He had no idea what had happened, or why so many spirits had suddenly converged here. Though there were no great demons or fearsome ghosts, the spreading yin energy boded ill for the village.

Just as Yang Chengzi was about to investigate, hoofbeats and the noisy rush resumed. After a while, the sounds faded, and the spirits gradually dispersed. With relief, Yang Chengzi lay back and went to sleep.

At dawn, as the first light brightened the sky, Chen San and the others were already up. Unlike Yang Chengzi, they had slept soundly and heard nothing.

After washing, they sought out a villager to ask how far it was to the next settlement and to buy more provisions. But before they could leave the house, the air was rent by heartrending cries.

Yang Chengzi frowned, took up his Qing Sword, and opened the door. The wailing came from the south, and he hurried over.

A woman in her thirties or forties was sobbing outside her open door, cradling a boy of three or five, his face pale, his body drenched—clearly lifeless, drowned. Nearby, a middle-aged man pounded his chest and groaned, while a girl of eight or nine wiped her eyes and wept bitterly.

Though an outsider, Yang Chengzi could not turn away. As a Daoist, he had no choice but to intervene. He approached and inquired gently, “Brother, what happened to the child?”

The man stamped his foot, tears spilling over. “I don’t know. This morning, we found Dogwa missing from bed. We thought he’d gone out to play. But when I went to draw water from the well, I found his clothes there…” He broke down, wailing.

By now, Chen San and the others had arrived, but seeing the family’s grief, they held back and pulled Yang Chengzi aside to ask what had happened.

Learning the child had drowned in the well, they all expressed their sympathies. As more villagers gathered, Yang Chengzi and his companions sought out the village chief, introducing himself as a Daoist from Mount Mao and offering to help.

Upon learning his credentials, the chief conferred with the bereaved father. One look told Yang Chengzi the chief intended for him to perform the rites. With the couple overwhelmed by grief, they obeyed the chief’s arrangements.

Fengxi Village lay far from Mount Mao and had no resident Daoist. Such services usually required fetching one from a distant place. Having a Mount Mao Daoist present was a blessing.

Chen San was in no hurry; they still didn’t know where Puxian Temple was. A day or two’s delay made little difference, so he returned with Chen Xin and Chang Yu to their lodgings.

Though it was only a child, the proper rites had to be performed. The village custom was for children to be buried three days after death, adults after seven. Yang Chengzi followed these rules, drawing talismans and conducting rituals.

After a day’s toil, as evening approached, Yang Chengzi returned briefly to the house for water and to instruct Chen San about the night. He would be busy with the rites and not return to sleep; Chen San was to look after the two girls, as the village saw many travelers and anything could happen.

As Yang Chengzi was about to leave, Chen San seemed about to speak, scratching his head in confusion, looking rather dim-witted. Yang Chengzi shook his head in exasperation.

“Even a dog would turn up its nose at you. Speak up when you remember.”

Chen San was speechless. In truth, he hadn’t forgotten what he wanted to say. That morning, something about the drowned child had struck him as odd, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

Even after Yang Chengzi closed the door and left, Chen San couldn’t recall what felt wrong. After supper, while the three cleaned up, Chen Xin prepared a bedroll for Chen San. Having gone to bed early the night before, she was wide awake.

Chang Yu started sharing stories from the strange books she’d read. Before long, Chen Xin was nearly asleep, when Chen San suddenly sat bolt upright, startling Chang Yu, and muttered, “I know, I know.” With that, he threw on his coat and rushed out.

Chang Yu looked at Chen Xin, baffled. “Chen San’s not a bad fellow, just a bit daft. He’s often like this. You’ll get used to it.”

Chen Xin smiled, her eyes crescent-shaped. “He’s not daft—he’s clever, actually.”

Chen San, as if having uncovered a great secret, raced to Yang Chengzi’s location. There, Yang Chengzi was still busy with the family by the coffin. Not daring to intrude, Chen San waited until the rites were done before beckoning Yang Chengzi over.

Yang Chengzi, frowning, gave Chen San a sidelong look. “What have you remembered?”

“Don’t look at me like I’m an idiot—it’s insulting. Just listen.”

“Fine, fine. What you say depends on what you have to say.”

Chen San, suddenly solemn, pulled Yang Chengzi aside and whispered, “About the child this morning.”

“Which child?”

“The one who drowned.”

“What about him?”

“This morning, I noticed something was off. I kept thinking something was missing. Guess what it was?”

“What was it? Out with it.”

“He was missing his soul. There wasn’t a single soul left in his body—he was like a block of wood, empty.”

Yang Chengzi was taken aback. “Are you sure? You can see all three souls and seven spirits?”

“I’m not sure. But when I look at you, or the girls, I see a kind of shimmering, golden afterimage. That child had nothing—no shadow at all.”

Yang Chengzi eyed Chen San skeptically, but Chen San, annoyed by the doubt, continued, “Why don’t you believe me? Didn’t you say that when someone dies, there should still be spirits left in the body? Remember Laifeng, the simple girl who drowned? That night when we took Sister Nian to the well?”

Yang Chengzi nodded, and Chen San went on, “When we found her, she’d been soaked that way for ages, but her body still had a golden afterimage. This child had nothing at all.”

At this, Yang Chengzi began to suspect that Chen San’s ghostly sight really could perceive the three souls and seven spirits.

When a person dies, the soul waits to be summoned. The timing depends on the cause of death, but it’s never longer than twelve hours. Regardless, before the seventh day, there should still be one or two spirits left in the body. Even after seven days, an evil spirit remains until its evil karma disperses.

What Chen San saw in Laifeng was likely the evil spirit. Despite her simplicity, she’d lived over twenty years, so some evil karma was inevitable. A child of three or five might not have any, but on the first day, there should still be one or two spirits left—how could there be none?

“I understand. Go back for now. I’ll check whether there really are no spirits left. Put the soul alarm bell on the table and keep the girls safe.”

“Right, you try it. I’m not making this up. Maybe there’s something wrong with this village. Since we’re here, we might as well settle it before we leave.” With that, Chen San nodded to the villagers and left.

In fact, Yang Chengzi would have found out in due course. A properly trained Daoist, on the second day of the rites, would perform a ritual called “Severing the Three Souls.” This involved writing the deceased’s birthdate on a yellow talisman, folding a strand of hair inside, and placing it between two black bricks and a black tile (or a bamboo slip painted black if a tile was unavailable), arranged beside the board where the body lay, the tile forming a little roof over the bricks. The talisman was placed on top.

While reciting the birthdate, the talisman would usually ignite, and the tile or bamboo would split in two.

If it split, it meant the person was truly dead, with only one or two spirits left and the rest summoned away, ready for burial.

If it didn’t split, either the person wasn’t truly dead, retaining all three souls and seven spirits (in which case the talisman wouldn’t burn as the birthdate was recited), or the person was dead but missing one or two spirits—the talisman would burn, but the tile would not break.

If the latter occurred, the severing ritual would be tried a second time. If it still failed, the rites would continue for the sake of the family, but after burial, a Daoist versed in the arcane would be summoned—the area must harbor a spirit or evil practitioner that seized souls.

To know whether the child still possessed any spirits, Yang Chengzi needed only to perform this ritual. But since it hadn’t yet been twelve hours, he had to wait. He didn’t know exactly when the child had drowned, so he’d wait until morning. If done too soon, the remaining spirits wouldn’t have left yet, and the tile would split anyway.

In such cases, opening the third eye wouldn’t help; only spirits outside the body could be seen, not those within. That was why Yang Chengzi was so surprised that Chen San could see the three souls and seven spirits glowing with golden light inside the living.

As a Daoist versed in the arcane, Yang Chengzi knew that if Chen San was right, and the child’s body truly contained no spirits, the situation was grave.

Should he intervene? If he did, their journey to Puxian Temple would be delayed. If he didn’t, as a master of yin and yang, what was he good for if he ignored such things?

The thought gave him a headache. He decided to wait and see—who knew if Chen San had seen correctly? The morning was still young; he’d finish the other rites first.

Chen Xin and Chang Yu knew nothing of this; Chen San hadn’t told them. Both girls were rather timid—if they heard, they’d be too scared to sleep, and he’d lose sleep as well.

The next morning, Chen San rose early, washed, and roused Chen Xin and Chang Yu. He wanted to go find Yang Chengzi, and it wasn’t proper for the girls to be alone in bed if someone came by.

Heading out, Chen San hurried to Yang Chengzi’s place, arriving at about the same time as the previous day. He wanted to see how Yang Chengzi would resolve the matter.

At the house, Yang Chengzi was idly sitting on a bench, eyes closed. Chen San ran over and slapped him on the shoulder.

“Well? Was I right? Did you check?”

“Not yet. I sent someone to fetch what I need. We’ll know soon.”

That suited Chen San—he was curious to see how Yang Chengzi would determine if the child still had any souls.

Before he could ask, someone brought two black bricks and a black tile to Yang Chengzi.

Yang Chengzi curled his lip and signaled for Chen San to come inside. Chen San eagerly followed.

Inside, he carefully examined the child laid out on the board—still no trace of a soul.

Yang Chengzi placed the bricks beside the board, laid the tile on top, wrote the child’s birthdate on a yellow talisman, folded in a lock of the child’s hair, and set the talisman on the tile.

When the hour was right, he cleared the room of all but Chen San and recited the birthdate.

With a whoosh, the talisman burned. Yang Chengzi frowned, watching the tile below—it remained whole. He tried again, but the tile still did not crack.

Yang Chengzi flicked the tile with his finger; only then did it break in two. He called the others back to continue the ceremonies.