How Many Return from Ancient Wars?

The two sides gradually grew familiar with each other.

Using the excuse that he had rarely seen Demonic Ghosts and was exceedingly curious about their spells and Divine Abilities, Lin Jue naturally asked what spells and Divine Abilities they knew, hoping to witness them.

The two readily agreed.

However, the Demonic Ghost surnamed Su was rather mischievous. Under the pretext of demonstrating his transformation skills, he pulled the Demonic Ghost surnamed Mo before Lin Jue and, in an instant, turned him into a terrifying Demonic Ghost with a chunk missing from his skull, brains exposed, and several dark-red bloody holes in his face, intending to scare Lin Jue.

As for himself, although his own manner of death had not been pretty either, at least he still looked like a whole person.

Yet Lin Jue had only recently witnessed that dog demon's Transformation Technique on the road and had already been frightened twice. He was prepared now, and with his mind dull from the latter half of the night, he did not react much.

Instead, he regretted not feeling anything strange.

Afterward, the two demonstrated their abilities to pass through walls and Exhale Qi.

But these were merely natural traits of ghosts. Lin Jue still felt nothing.

Finally came the Carrying Technique.

Just as Lin Jue brimmed with anticipation and asked them to carry him, thinking he might learn something from it, he saw the two walk up beside him. One lifted his head while the other held his feet, and together they heaved him up with all their strength.

Lin Jue fell silent on the spot.

"Back when monks from the temple would sneak over here to eat meat and drink wine, then fall asleep here afterward, this was how we carried them out."

The two even said it with considerable pride.

What could Lin Jue say?

He could only offer a few compliments and continue chatting.

These two truly loved poetry and verse. They had likely taken it as their constant amusement ever since dying, and their conversations often revolved around all manner of poems, quite refined and elegant. Even when Lin Jue had first asked whether they were demons or ghosts, they had not answered directly, merely shaking their heads and reciting doggerel such as, "By chance we meet amid the bamboo-clad hills, neither demon are we, nor immortal still. Know this is where bones lie buried deep; at fourth watch, night owls weep."

Later on, urged and egged on by them, Lin Jue spent half the night piecing together such miscellaneous lines as, "Dust drifts lightly on the distant road, dusk deepens thick; through barren hills, night winds stir the old temple." There had been two more lines afterward, something about fate granting them an encounter with immortal traces.

His head had been too muddled in the latter half of the night for him to remember them.

He only remembered the two of them bursting into laughter again and again.

If ordinary people had been able to hear such laughter clearly, no one in the entire temple would likely have slept soundly that night.

In the end, he did not know when he fell asleep.

Then, while sleeping in a haze, he had another dream.

In the dream, he was still in the pavilion. The furnishings were mostly the same, only the details had become hazy and illusory. Before him still stood Su Xiaojin and Mo Laifeng.

"Hahaha, Brother Lin gets sleepy far too easily. You should know that when I was Brother Lin's age, I could compose poetry and play chess with friends for several nights straight without any trouble," Su Xiaojin said with a laugh.

Lin Jue glanced at his hair and believed him.

"Since Brother Lin is tired, we had no choice but to come find you in your dream." Mo Laifeng was far gentler and steadier by nature. "To be honest, we were both originally from Huizhou. We saw no hope of earning scholarly honors, and at the time the nation was beset by troubles within and without, so we simply enlisted. Once we left, it was ten years amid the yellow sands of the Western Regions. I unfortunately died on the battlefield. Brother Su, righteous to the utmost, brought my bones and flesh with him and carried me home over ten thousand miles."

Hearing this, Lin Jue could not help but feel surprised. He looked once more at the laughing Ghost Su.

Gentlemen carrying swords was the dashing fashion of the day, but scholars taking up halberds and joining the army was the era's ultimate romance. Such things were not uncommon.

Yet he had not expected to truly encounter a man of such righteousness in reality.

To carry someone's bones home over ten thousand miles—no matter the dynasty, that would be a tale worthy of praise.

"What a pity..."

Ghost Su cut in, grinning. "Though I picked up my life on the battlefield, I was left with lingering injuries. For ten years, I had grown accustomed to the yellow-sand skies of the Western Regions. When I returned to this ink-wash homeland, I actually fell ill from not acclimating to the soil and water. We had once agreed that whoever died first, the one still living would help him return to his roots like fallen leaves. Yet in the end, I still failed to fulfill my promise."

Though his words were heavy, once he finished, he clapped his hands together, spread them apart, and assumed the air of a rascal.

"And dragged myself into it too!"

Ghost Mo stood beside him as though long accustomed to it.

"We did not come now to ask Brother Lin for help. It is only that during the first half of last night, we heard Brother Lin counting money upstairs, and there was a sigh among the sounds. We guessed that Brother Lin, traveling abroad to study, must be short on funds. Then, having played with Brother Lin just now, we found it most enjoyable and kindred, and we also admire Brother Lin's character. So after Brother Lin fell asleep, I discussed it with Brother Su for a while..." Ghost Mo said. "Before Brother Su died, he buried all our money beneath the small mound in the bamboo grove behind the temple. We just dug a little pit above it. There should be over a hundred taels of silver inside. If Brother Lin lacks money, you may take some."

Lin Jue froze for a moment.

Could such good fortune truly fall into his lap for no reason?

He had just begun considering whether to accept or politely decline, but upon thinking it over carefully, was this not still a request for his help?

It was merely phrased more tactfully.

Otherwise, why would they not tell Lin Jue to take all the money? They were already dead—who were they keeping it for?

"May I ask where the two of you live?"

"North of Danxun County, Su Village."

"South of Qiuru County, Lao Village."

"How far is it from here?"

"Only two or three hundred li."

"You two protected your homes and defended the nation, yet stopped when you were only two or three hundred li from home. And you have remained stopped for over a decade. That truly is not right."

"If Brother Lin is willing, then please bring a letter to our families for us. Our remains are buried north of the bamboo grove. As for the silver we buried, Brother Lin need only leave some for our families."

"I will certainly deliver it."

Lin Jue spoke with calm determination.

The dream quietly faded away.

When Lin Jue woke, it was already broad daylight.

He packed the cloth robe he used as a blanket, the trousers he used as a pillow, and the books beneath him into his bookcase. With nothing else to take, he slung it over his back and headed downstairs.

"Creak..."

As he pushed open the attic door, sunlight immediately streamed in, falling across Lin Jue's face and leaving him in a daze.

He had not slept well, and his mind was still somewhat muddled. What he had experienced last night, like the Wang Family Ancestral Hall in Heng Village before, had been so fantastical and unreal—as if it had all been a dream.

He had really spent the whole night talking with two ghosts?

Lin Jue could not help standing in the doorway, lost in thought for a moment.

By the time he stepped outside, he discovered that most of the merchants and travelers lodging there had already left. The temple, bustling and packed shoulder to shoulder last night, now stood empty. Only the middle-aged monk remained, sweeping the ground.

Seeing Lin Jue, he turned and smiled.

"Benefactor Lin, you're awake? You're the last one up. Breakfast is nearly over—I don't know if there's anything left."

"Thank you, Master."

"Benefactor Lin, you do not seem well rested. Did you not sleep well last night? The monks and guests in the temple all heard voices coming from the attic. Quite a few were woken by the noise. Did Benefactor Lin encounter something?"

"Master did not tell me that although this attic had stood vacant for a long time, I would not be the only one staying in it." Lin Jue could not help saying with a hint of complaint.

"There were many people outside last night, and this temple depends on the lodging fees of passing benefactors to make a living. It truly would not have been appropriate to tell you." The monk stopped sweeping, rested both hands on the broom, and bowed to him in apology. "Two unusual benefactors do indeed sometimes come to play in that attic. Some years ago, fellow disciples encountered them. But those two are not ill-hearted, and they are half scholars and refined gentlemen besides. They have always enjoyed keeping company with readers and respected people of virtue. In the past, bold guests fond of strange tales of Demonic Ghosts have lodged in the attic and gotten along with them safely. Since you are both a reader and a man of virtue, there is truly nothing to fear."

He paused, then smiled faintly. "Besides, Benefactor, you are not even afraid of the Demonic Ghosts on the road. Why fear those who have lived alongside us in this temple for years?"

"..."

Listening to him, Lin Jue suddenly felt that this monk could perhaps be called an "eminent monk."

Who said one had to possess spiritual power and know spells to count as an eminent monk?

"I hope, Benefactor, that you will not speak of this outside."

"Understood, understood."

For a moment, Lin Jue did not know what to say. He merely nodded and followed the monk toward the dining hall.

The temple's meals were simple. Breakfast was still a bowl of thin porridge, along with one vegetable dumpling for each person. The temple monks had little to do, and that was enough to last them until noon. Merchants and travelers, however, had to keep moving and needed to supplement it with their own dry rations to last half a day. There were still several vegetable dumplings left in the basket, but the porridge was gone, so the monk gave all the dumplings to him.

Lin Jue thanked him, asked for some clean water, and washed up simply before sitting down to eat.

Only a few people remained in the dining hall—a group of merchants he did not know. In low voices, they discussed what they had heard yesterday: perhaps someone making a commotion last night, perhaps news of someone encountering Demonic Ghosts on the road, and what followed afterward.

As they talked, the subject turned to mules.

They spoke of the current price of mules, then followed their rising prices to the war in the west.

The fighting in the west came and went, battles flaring up and stopping again and again. It had been this way for decades, and nothing had changed now.

They said our side had won a victory and slaughtered half the people in a Small Nations city. They said our side had suffered a crushing defeat, an entire army left behind in the yellow sands. They said some country had violated our borders, entering cities to burn, kill, loot, and commit every evil imaginable; by the time reinforcements arrived, they had already vanished like the wind. How many bones lay buried in the sand, how many people could never return home—over tea and meals, these merchants summed it all up in a few sentences.

As Lin Jue listened, he could not help thinking of the two literary ghosts he had met at midnight yesterday, returning from military service in the Western Regions.

It still felt like a dream.