Nabo in Hand

The world was vast; strange things abounded.

And so it was that a curious affair occurred in Jiang City today.

Qian Dayuan, owner of the Wanbao Merchant Guild, intended to arrange a wedding for his second son, who had died young long ago—a marriage between corpses!

The moment the news spread, the whole city was in an uproar. From streets to alleyways, everyone was talking about it.

As for the reason behind it, Qian Dayuan's wife, Madam Liu, had dreamed one night that her deceased second son was alone and forlorn in the underworld, with not a soul beside him.

After waking from the dream, Madam Liu immediately felt tightness in her chest, shortness of breath, and unceasing palpitations.

She invited an expert to interpret the dream, and he said her second son had come seeking a wife. If she refused, he feared the boy would cause hauntings and leave neither chickens nor dogs in peace.

Hearing this, Madam Liu counted on her fingers and realized it was true. Her second son had died at five, and now he would have been exactly sixteen—the age to marry and have children.

Thinking of her son alone in the underworld, with no family to look up to and no companion at his side, sorrow surged into Madam Liu's heart. She cried that she had to find him a wife.

Thus, she hired a ghost matchmaker and sought out a feng shui master to match their eight characters.

That was how this absurd affair came to be!

On the day of the wedding, the entire city buzzed with excitement. Countless spectators crowded around the city gates to watch the spectacle.

"They're here! They're here!"

Though the bridal procession was still far away, its ten-mile stretch of crimson bridal trousseau, winding like a long dragon, had already drawn the gazes of the whole city.

From afar, it looked like a fiery dragon swimming toward them, magnificent beyond measure.

"A dead man's wedding is more lavish than a living man's!"

"Isn't that the truth!"

"This ghost groom really was born into a fine family. Even after dying, he can still take a wife. A country bumpkin entering the imperial city—first time seeing such a thing."

Standing amid the crowd, Mo Chuan listened to the locals' chatter and could not help sighing inwardly.

After the bridal escort and the groom's welcoming procession met, the two sides immediately began an exceedingly cumbersome sequence of rites before the whole city.

Amid the chaotic clamor, the sound of a night watchman's clapper suddenly rang out from the crowd.

Accompanying the clapper was a hoarse, desperate shout:

"Guo Shi isn't dead! Guo Shi isn't dead!"

Yet after only a few cries, the voice vanished.

Mo Chuan stood on tiptoe and looked toward the sound, vaguely catching sight of a commotion and shoving within the crowd.

Unfortunately, there were too many people watching the excitement. They blocked everything tightly, and he could see nothing at all.

He frowned, turned back, and continued watching the Nabo player in the ceremonial band.

Before long, the ghost wedding's two sides completed the rites, and the welcoming procession set off home amid the blare of instruments.

That day, the Qian residence laid out a grand feast and invited all the city's residents to share in the celebration.

Not to mention the delicacies from mountains and seas served within the residence—even the flowing banquet tables outside were piled with one hearty dish after another, leaving the townsfolk all raising their thumbs in praise.

For a time, the eerie atmosphere of the ghost wedding was washed away without a trace.

Night fell, and the Qian residence grew quiet.

The musicians, who had played and beaten their instruments all day, finally returned to the inn to rest.

For them, tomorrow's joint burial was the true main event.

Today had merely been the wedding ceremony!

"Master, what was going on with that young night watchman today?"

At the inn, Guapi, the youngest apprentice of the ceremonial band, soaked his feet alongside his master and asked in a mysteriously hushed tone.

"Shh! Don't ask about what you shouldn't."

The old master, enjoying the comfort of soaking his feet in hot water, rolled his tiger eyes at the words.

"Oh!"

Guapi wilted. Before long, though, he asked again, "Master, why did that young night watchman say Guo Shi wasn't dead?"

"You little Guapi, why do you have so much to say?"

The old master bristled and flicked him on the forehead.

"Ow!"

Guapi cried out in pain, clutching his head without making another sound.

"Add more hot water!"

His master glared at him.

"Oh!"

Feeling sullen, Guapi picked up the kettle to add water. Yet with his mind full of the day's events, he accidentally poured in too much.

"Ow! Are you trying to scald me to death?"

The old master flew into a rage and was about to scold his apprentice when a series of knocks came from the door. "Knock, knock, knock."

"Who is it?"

"Is this Master Zhong of the Tian'an Village ceremonial band?"

A mild voice inquired from outside.

Master Zhong glared at his apprentice, figuring it might be a client at the door. He hurriedly dried his feet, rose, and opened it.

Creak! The door opened.

Master Zhong raised his brows. The one knocking in the middle of the night was actually a young Daoist priest.

—The visitor was none other than Mo Chuan.

"Master Zhong, pardon the disturbance. This poor Daoist happened to pass through Jiang City today and chanced upon Master's performance. I unexpectedly noticed that you had a pair of Nabo with a rather unusual design. A friend of mine enjoys collecting musical instruments from across the world, so I wish to buy them as a gift for him. Master Zhong, would that be acceptable?"

Mo Chuan casually made up an excuse.

As he spoke, he took out one tael of silver from his robes.

At the sight of the silver, Master Zhong's eyes immediately lit up. His ceremonial band would earn no more than three taels of silver for working for the Qian family.

Even that was already several times the usual market rate.

For ordinary weddings or funerals, they earned as little as half a string of copper coins and at most one tael. Split among seven or eight band members, it was merely hard-earned money.

Now, a whole tael of silver was falling into his hands for no reason—and it was private income. How could he not be tempted?

"It would be acceptable, but..." Master Zhong hesitated visibly.

"This poor Daoist will add another hundred copper coins. I cannot offer more."

Mo Chuan put on a pained expression, gritted his teeth, and took out another string of copper coins tied with hemp rope from his sleeve.

"Ah, Daoist, you're too courteous! How about this? Once I finish the Qian family's job tomorrow, I'll deliver them to you. Would that do?"

Master Zhong was overjoyed. His so-called hesitation was only because he would still need the instruments for tomorrow's funeral!

"That will not do. This poor Daoist has an appointment with an escort agency and must leave early tomorrow morning. I fear I cannot wait."

Mo Chuan casually offered another excuse.

The fact that he had not approached them during the day was already him restraining himself.

How could he dare let the night grow long and dreams multiply?

"This..."

Master Zhong hesitated for a moment. Seeing that the Daoist had no intention of raising his offer, he gritted his teeth. "Fine. I'll find a way to borrow some from fellow musicians. Daoist, wait a moment."

With that, he hurried back inside and brought out the pair of Nabo, afraid Mo Chuan might change his mind.

Once the exchange was complete, Master Zhong finally breathed a sigh of relief.

"This poor Daoist has one more question. May I ask where Master Zhong found this pair of Nabo?"

Mo Chuan accepted the Nabo and gave them a brief inspection, inwardly letting out a long breath as well.

Of this pair of Nabo, one should have been cast from ordinary copper.

The other was identical to the Nabo in his possession, except that the metallic baleful aura within it was somewhat weaker.

"At a blacksmith's shop! The smith told me one of them had been sold to him by a passing beggar. He thought the design was quite exquisite, so he took it upon himself to forge another one and make a pair. I happened to buy them."

"So that was it!"

Mo Chuan came to a realization. He cupped his hands and said, "It is late, and this poor Daoist has disturbed you. I shall take my leave!"

"You are too courteous, Daoist!"

Master Zhong watched Mo Chuan leave, then returned inside to get dressed and pack his things, preparing to borrow a pair of Nabo from fellow musicians for tomorrow's job.

Just as Mo Chuan descended from the inn's second floor, he ran straight into a young scholar.

As they passed shoulder to shoulder, both instinctively glanced at the other.

As expected of a scholar who has never touched spring water with all ten fingers—his skin is fair and tender indeed.

Mo Chuan muttered to himself inwardly.

He had traveled this world for some time now, and most people he had seen were dark-faced and rough-skinned.

Only the well-fed and well-kept, people such as nobles and the powerful, had better skin.

Wait!

Could that person possibly... also be a cultivator?

Then what was his purpose in coming here?

Mo Chuan's expression immediately turned strange. It could not be such a coincidence, could it?

Thanks to "Stories Passed Down" for the reward!