This Poor Daoist

Qi WuHuo's fingers caressed the zither.

His zither music only began to reach an excellent realm after he met the Mountain God Qiong Yu in his dreams.

Later, after experiencing decades of ups and downs in his dreams, and then understanding the principle of dreams within dreams, or dreams not being dreams, in the Li family, he advanced another level. His zither music seemed to contain the life's insights of that Master WuHuo from his dreams, resonating with people's hearts. The young saw youthful ambition, while the old saw the ebb and flow of worldly affairs, touching their true selves.

Now, even these ghosts refined by the reversed use of the Nine Nether Long Night Corpse Raising and Soul Crossing Profound Scripture of Spiritual Treasures were faintly stirred.

Their madness seemed to have weakened slightly.

But that was all.

Within the courtyard, yin energy still flowed, and gusts of cold wind blew, preventing sunlight from penetrating. The auras of the manipulated ghosts fluctuated unstably. Qi WuHuo observed with his Primordial Spirit, faintly seeing the struggle on their faces. Yet, no matter how Qi WuHuo played the zither, how wholeheartedly he tried, he could not calm their hearts.

The young man pursed his lips, still meticulously playing the zither.

The old man chuckled and shook his head.

Previously, without intent, he could perform supernatural abilities.

Now, with more effort, it seemed useless.

Stroking his beard, he laughed, "Don't be so tense. People who are tense can't even write well, so how can they play the zither?"

"The zither is the voice of the heart."

"The heart is nature, it is spirit."

"When playing the zither, the Primordial Spirit naturally participates. It's a natural process. If you deliberately activate your Primordial Spirit, you lose the wonder."

"WuHuo, pay attention."

"Let your mind be at peace, let your Qi and spirit merge, let it be natural, without forced guidance."

"This is what is meant by [continuous yet seemingly absent, used without effort]."

"What is called zither music, what is called supernatural abilities, are nothing more than this."

Qi WuHuo had originally been thinking that he absolutely had to save these ghosts, and his body tensed up subconsciously. The old man's words were gentle, and he gradually let go of his obsession. His fingers rested on the zither strings, and as the music flowed, it naturally became more melodious. His mind gradually relaxed. Suddenly, he asked, "Old man, do you also understand the zither?"

"Zither? I don't understand."

The old man stroked his beard and replied with a smile, "What I speak of is..."

"The Dao."

Qi WuHuo smiled and agreed. As he played the zither, he followed the old man's guidance. When there were occasional mistakes, the old man would casually point them out. However, each piece of guidance wasn't about a wrong note on the sheet music, but whether it was in harmony with the heart and spirit.

Gradually, Qi WuHuo's zither music was no longer confined to the sheet music, but became increasingly natural and composed.

The old man said he didn't understand the zither, but under his guidance, Qi WuHuo felt he was actually playing more smoothly.

Seventy years of a yellow-millet dream, with three thousand zither scores and ten directions of music theory.

Now, they converged into one.

After observing a thousand swords, one knows the weapons; after playing a hundred tunes, one understands music.

Qi WuHuo's expression was gentle and serene.

As the zither music faded, the resentment and madness on the faces of the ghosts gradually dissipated. The cold wind gradually subsided. They reappeared in their original forms: perhaps a young woman with delicate features, a rope mark on her neck; perhaps a burly youth, with stab wounds from swords and blades on his body. There was even one who had lost his head, leaving only a headless body.

Qi WuHuo's palm rested on the zither strings, and the music gradually faded to silence, leaving only a faint lingering resonance.

"This is..."

The zither music dispelled the resentment from the ghosts, allowing them to gradually return to their normal state.

But these tragic scenes made Qi WuHuo look up slightly.

The old man, who was brewing tea, shook his head and said, "They all seem to be souls who died unjustly. I wonder how many of them accepted the evil cultivator's gold and were then harmed by his sorcery."

After regaining their senses.

The delicate young girl suddenly looked dazed and confused, saying, "I, why am I here?"

"Mother... where is my mother?"

She looked around in panic and said urgently:

"That kind-hearted Daoist master clearly gave me three taels of gold. My mother's illness can be saved, but why am I here?"

"I need to find someone to treat my mother!"

"Where is my gold?"

"My gold?! Where is it?!"

She frantically searched herself, her expression anxious. Her already pale and translucent face showed a hint of worry, and tears welled up in her eyes.

!!!

Qi WuHuo's hand, pressing on the zither strings, suddenly became heavy.

In just a few sentences, he already understood why this young girl had appeared among the ghosts driven by Tantai Xuan.

"A curse of bewitchment placed on the gold... did it make her commit suicide..."

The maiden's soul looked around, then at Qi WuHuo, the only person visible in her eyes. She bit her lower lip and asked:

"Young sir, do you, do you know where my money is?"

"Please, please."

"That's my mother's life-saving money, can you please give it back to me?"

In her desperation, she seemed to have lost all composure and knelt on the ground.

Qi WuHuo stood up to avoid her, reaching out to help her.

But his palm passed right through the hand of the young girl, who was not much younger than himself.

Qi WuHuo paused and said:

"That Daoist... gave you gold?"

The young girl bit her lower lip:

"I spent the night with him."

The young man in the blue shirt closed his eyes, bent down, circulated his Primordial Spirit, and helped the young girl up.

His palm was warm and clean.

It gave the young girl a rare sense of warmth.

But he finally took a step back, let his hands hang down, and looked at the young girl with a compassionate and gentle gaze. He still said:

"But... you're already dead..."

!!!

These words, as if possessing some mystical power, stunned the young girl. The memories she had forgotten due to the pain of being tempered by the supernatural ability resurfaced. She stumbled back several steps, her expression filled with agony. Her body swayed, and she collapsed onto the ground, covering her face and weeping:

"Mother..."

"My mother's illness..."

Qi WuHuo pursed his lips and looked around, seeing the 'people' who were gradually regaining their memories. Some were escorts who had taken a job from the Daoist and were tainted by his sinister aura; some were breakfast vendors who, seeing the ragged Daoist alone and pitiful in the morning, had given him three steamed buns and a bowl of water; there were also physicians, farmers...

Qi WuHuo listened to their stories.

The old man's eyes were gentle as he calmly watched the young man from a distance.

He didn't immediately intervene.

He wanted to see how the young man would handle the situation.

[Witnessing Life and Death].

"Young sir, you can see us, can you help us... are we, are we truly out of options?"

"Yes, yes, you have such power."

"Can you help us?! Just take pity on us!"

"I still have a wife and children at home..."

Qi WuHuo remained silent, cupped his hands, and refused:

"I do not possess such supernatural abilities, and cannot do such things..."

The numerous wronged souls were dejected.

The young man thought for a moment, then turned back into the house, took out paper and brush, and said in a gentle voice, "However, if any of you have any unfulfilled wishes, or messages you wish me to deliver to your families, please tell me... I don't have that much power, but I can still deliver a message."

The escort was silent for a moment, then gave a hearty laugh and cupped his hands like a man of the martial world:

"Then please, young sir, tell my wife that I have saved some silver and hidden it beneath the bricks in the wall. I hid it because I was worried my unworthy son would be too extravagant. I had planned to buy a small courtyard with a vegetable garden after my son got married, raise some chickens and ducks, and grow old together. It seems that won't happen."

The vendor who sold breakfast from a cart sighed:

"I have nothing else to say, just tell my son not to be greedy for small gains."

"Fair trade, and he'll be able to support his family with this skill in the future."

Finally, the young girl bowed several times, sobbing:

"If, young sir, you ever go to the prefectural city in Central Province, please go to Shuili Village under the jurisdiction of the prefectural city and see my mother..."

"Tell her her daughter is unfilial... and cannot see her again."

The young man sat by the stone table where a zither was placed and began to write.

These words filled an entire sheet of paper.

So, a person's life and death could be reduced to a line of text, a stroke of ink.

Qi WuHuo stood up, cupped his hands, and said softly:

"Your wishes, I..."

He seemed to feel that saying "[I]" was not solemn enough, not enough to earn their trust.

The old man seemed to cough.

The young man in the blue shirt paused, then cupped his hands and replied softly:

"Your wishes."

"This poor Daoist, accepts them."

PS: "Mian mian ruo cun, yong zhi bu qin" -- Classic of the Way and Virtue, Chapter 6