A flagstone path, a mottled corner of a wall, a babbling stream, and, along its banks, a row of whitewashed walls and dark-tiled roofs. An old stone arch bridge crossed the stream. Atop it stood a wooden pavilion with eight pillars, their paint faded with age.
An old man leaned on his cane in the pavilion, surrounded by seven or eight children.
He was telling an old tale.
A boy in worn clothes, fifteen or sixteen years old, stood silently by the wall, holding a bag of rice and gazing ahead.
He could hear the old man speaking and the children crying out in surprise.
The old man was an elder in the village. With his advanced age and ample free time, he often sat beneath a tree at the village entrance and told old stories. It was a way to let the young know what was happening in the wider world and how history rose and fell, while also passing on his life experience, lessons, and hard-won wisdom to the village's descendants. In times like these, many things in rural villages were passed down from generation to generation by word of mouth.
But when the children gathered in numbers, the stories changed.
Tales of the great events of past and present became stories of immortals and ghosts.
Such stories had always been popular, from ancient times to the present.
Those who listened loved them, and those who told them loved telling them.
Lin Jue had often come to listen over the past year.
As it happened, he had arrived in this world only a year ago. Few people would willingly find themselves in an unfamiliar, backward place, but since he was already here and there was no other choice, he could only do his best not to spend his entire life trapped in this little village.
He supposed that every world had its own wonders, and every era its own pleasures. He would have to go out and see them for himself.
Leaving was neither especially difficult nor especially easy.
It depended on how he went about it.
At first, Lin Jue had planned to study, earn an official degree, and leave this place—at least to announce his arrival to this world.
Fortunately, commerce had flourished in this region in recent years. Most of the Shu Clan in the village had banded together to do business, selling local ink, paper, brushes, inkstones, tea, and lumber in the Capital City. They had gradually grown wealthier. The area was also deeply influenced by Confucian ideas about clans and one's native place. As the number of wealthy families increased, they hoped more of their clansmen and fellow villagers would become scholars, earn official degrees, and help one another in the future. So they pooled their money to establish a clan school. Even outsiders like Lin Jue, who lived in the same village, benefited a little.
And so he had spent a year studying and a year listening to old tales.
Life was modest, but once he had grown used to it, it was quite comfortable.
Now, however, he had a worry—
Last month, his uncle had gone out fishing. When he returned, he suddenly fell seriously ill, covered in sores from head to toe. It had not been long before his life hung by a thread.
Lin Jue's family had been poor when he was young. His mother had been abducted by a peddler, and his father had raised him alone. Later, his father went out trading with the Shu Clan of the village and managed to earn a little hard-won money. But over the past two years, bandits and thieves had run rampant across the land. The year before last, a group of merchants had gone out on a trip and never returned. After that, his uncle had taken over his father's responsibilities, providing him with food, clothing, and an education.
His uncle had even risked his life to pull Lin Jue from the river when he fell in upon arriving in this world.
After his uncle took ill, his cousin had sought out the renowned physician who lived nearby. The physician had prescribed medicine, and it did help, but it was expensive.
Ordinary families in the countryside were fortunate if they could use the local advantages to secure enough food and clothing. Supporting a scholar was already the limit. A month's worth of medicine had long since drained their savings.
The money Lin Jue's father had left behind was gone, too.
The Shu Clan's head household in the village was kindhearted. Every ten days, they let him collect a small bag of rice from their estate, so the family would not starve to death.
Lin Jue had just returned from the Shu Clan's estate.
According to the physician, stubborn illnesses took time to treat. For his uncle to recover, he would need to take this medicine for at least three months, at a cost of no less than ten or twenty strings of coins.
Lin Jue had no idea where he could find that kind of money.
He was truly worried.
Coming back to himself, he heard the old man's voice from the pavilion ahead:
"...That fellow wasn't some Daoist priest or ritual master with mystical powers. He was just a gutsy, strong man who'd had a bit too much to drink. He fought that ghost all night long. By the time daybreak came, he was utterly exhausted. When he got up and looked around, guess what he saw?
"Not a ghost in sight. There was only a patch of skin on the ground, like a torn cloth bag. When the sun came out, it gave off wisps of smoke, and it stank to high heaven."
The children listened, wide-eyed and spellbound.
But one child had a trace of doubt in his eyes.
"Second Granduncle, are there really ghosts in the world?"
Over the past year, Lin Jue had often pondered the same question while listening to these stories.
Were there really gods, ghosts, and monsters in this world?
He had never seen them, so he did not dare casually claim they existed.
But if they did not, why were the tales so widespread and convincing?
"Of course there are! How could there not be?" The village elder raised his eyebrows. "I've told you so many stories about demons and ghosts. Plenty of them even have names. You think I made them all up?"
"Have you seen them yourself?"
"Of course I have! Haven't I told you about it?"
"But our teacher says there are no demons or ghosts in this world. He's never seen one in his whole life."
"Your teacher, eh..."
The old man held his cane, which rested at his side, and smiled as he pondered. He thought it over carefully before speaking.
"There are all sorts of people in this world. Some fear ghosts, and some don't. It's the same with ghosts: some fear people, while others don't. So there are people who go out of their way to avoid ghosts, and ghosts who go out of their way to avoid people. Your teacher has studied the Confucian classics from cover to cover. He's learned and full of Righteous Qi, and he looks down on ghosts. What ghost would dare show itself in front of him?"
The children listened, bewildered, only half understanding.
The old man smiled again and stroked his beard.
"What I just told you happened in the neighboring county. If you don't believe me, there's been trouble with ghosts at the Wang Family's branch ancestral hall in Heng Village lately. The Wang Family has put up a big reward: anyone who dares spend the night in the ancestral hall will get ten thousand coins. You lot are young, with Fire Qi to spare. Dare you go sleep in the ancestral hall together for a night?"
"Really?"
"If you don't believe me, go home and ask your parents!"
The children looked at one another, all of them frightened.
"Has anyone actually gone?"
"Sure. A few gamblers and drunks from our village went. Last month, one brave fellow got the money. The rest were so scared they ran out in the middle of the night. Some even got sick for a few days afterward."
After finishing, the old man added:
"If you don't believe me, go ask around!"
The children immediately fell silent.
Only Lin Jue, standing at the side, looked intrigued.
He had been waiting here because he planned to ask the widely traveled village elder for advice on how to make money once the old man finished telling his ghost story. It could be some unconventional work Lin Jue could do, or the elder could use his standing to help Lin Jue find something to do with the Shu Clan's trading caravans. Anything that earned money would do.
He had not expected to hear this.
He had heard of drinking buddies getting drunk and betting on who could sleep in a graveyard. He had also heard many ghost stories from the old man in this very bridge pavilion. Now, all of it came rushing back to him.
He thought it over carefully, turning it around in his mind.
At last, the boy picked up his bag of rice and started walking.
He followed the stream up to the pavilion, crossed the bridge, and came to the village elder. The kindly old man was well into his eighties, so Lin Jue showed him due respect and greeted him first.
"Grandpa Shu."
"Ah, the Lin Family boy. What is it?"
"You said the head of the Wang Family in Heng Village was offering a reward for anyone who spent the night in their ancestral hall. Is it true that they'll pay ten thousand coins?"
"Hm? Are you thinking of giving it a try?"
Though the Lin Family were outsiders, they were fellow villagers. The old man knew their circumstances, and he had helped them from time to time. Hearing the question, he immediately guessed what Lin Jue was thinking.
"Are there really ghosts in the Wang Family Ancestral Hall?" Lin Jue asked first.
"How would I know? I was just telling those little brats to go try it, to scare them. You can't hear that and decide to go yourself."
"..." Lin Jue fell silent for a moment, then asked, "Did anyone really get the ten thousand coins?"
"Of course. I heard it was a drunk from the county, a burly fellow with guts to spare. Who knows if he knew martial arts? He went in and stayed the whole night. The next morning, he came out, took the money, and left."
"Has anyone ever been killed?"
"I haven't heard of anyone dying," the old man said. "A death would be a serious matter. It's not some deep mountain wilderness. Wherever people live, the law holds sway. Even if there really are ghosts, they wouldn't dare kill someone just like that."
Lin Jue stood still and thought it over before speaking.
"Thank you, Grandpa Shu."
"You really mean to go? Aren't you afraid?"
The old man had already seen what he had in mind.
"..."
Lin Jue was no real boy. He had his own thoughts and plans, but he kept them to himself and bowed again.
"Please give me some more advice, Grandpa Shu."
"Ah..."
The old man sighed. "I'm no Daoist priest, ritual master, witch, or sorcerer. How would I know how to ward off demons and banish evil? And even if I did, it wouldn't help. If it did, why would they need you?"
He paused and thought for a while before continuing.
"I've often heard that people become ghosts only after they die, and ghosts are weaker than people. Even foxes and rats in the mountains, once they become spirits, are only a little stronger than before. There aren't many with great powers.
"There's an old saying, too: 'Demons arise from the hearts of men.'
"You've done no evil, and your conscience is clear. You're young, healthy, and full of Qi and Blood. Ordinary ghosts won't come looking for trouble with you. If you do run into them, you mustn't be afraid. Fear will unsettle your heart; an unsettled heart will scatter your spirit, and then the ghosts will seize their chance. If you're unafraid, your heart will be steady; with a steady heart, your spirit will remain whole, and demons and monsters won't be able to invade you.
"That's why whenever some household is plagued by strange happenings, they invite a brave, vigorous person to keep watch. Courage comes first, and vigor second!
"It's no different when you're facing a person, not a ghost.
"Never let your courage falter..."
Lin Jue listened closely, his expression calm.
Over the past year, the strange tales he had heard from the village elder had mostly followed this pattern.
Ghosts were not necessarily stronger than people.
People were not necessarily weaker than ghosts.
Some ghosts bullied people, and some people bullied ghosts.
There were also plenty who got along with one another.
Chance encounters and brief bonds were common, too.
Strange and curious, romantic and uncanny.
They drew you in.
It was still early morning. The village below the mountain was quiet, its homes shrouded in a thin white mist. For a moment, all that could be heard was the chattering of birds in the trees and the sound of running water. The boy had thanked the old man and gone home with his bag of rice.
As he walked, he thought.
He still did not know whether the strange happenings at the Wang Family Ancestral Hall in Heng Village were the work of actual ghosts, or of someone with ulterior motives.
Nor did he know what this world was truly like.
Ten thousand coins...
He would go and see for himself today.
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