Ghost Lantern's Thin Line, Revealing Peach Blossom Face

Li Bai glanced at the closed doors ahead, sensing only the gloomy black qi seeping in relentlessly from outside.

He nodded.

Inside the hall, the guests were all somewhat unnerved.

The voices of the guests grew a bit louder, as if to bolster their courage.

"Ha, this batch of goods will be shipped to Luoyang. Those rich folk have money to burn—last time I went, I saw some young master spend several hundred strings of cash just to buy a single incense stick."

"And that was a low-grade one. The top-grade stuff probably only a sage could afford."

Someone raised a wine cup and said:

"I hear that incense isn't used alone either. Those wealthy families all learn to blend incense, claiming it wards off evil, calms the mind, and summons immortals... Not gonna lie, the scent is pretty pleasant."

"How much would that sell for? What's the profit margin?"

"You ask me, who do I ask? In this life, I've never even had a whiff of incense."

As the man spoke, the hand gripping his cup had already started trembling.

The one sitting across from him, holding chopsticks, tried to pick up a slice of meat, but his hand shook so badly he couldn't manage it after a long while.

The room gradually grew cold, carrying a hint of chill.

The wind outside was strong, blowing through the trees, and the sound of the lanterns swaying incessantly before the door could be heard.

A draft crept in through the cracks, making the candles inside flicker and waver unsteadily.

Light and shadow shifted, illuminating each face in turn.

Clatter—

A cup, unsteady, shattered on the ground.

The man was so startled he nearly fell over, and the two scholars also jumped in fright. By the time the merchant steadied himself, trembling, it took a long while before he came to his senses.

He lifted his head, looking at the innkeeper, about to ask how much the bowl cost.

The merchant's lips quivered.

But what came out was: "This, this... what's the deal with the ghosts here?"

The innkeeper's face was uglier than tears: "If we had a way, we'd have hired someone to perform rites and exorcise them long ago. Why would we live in fear day after day?"

The merchant immediately turned to the shaven-headed monk, who was reading scriptures. The bundle before him emitted a faint golden light, offering great comfort.

"Master! Master! Please, look at this ghost..."

Then he looked at Yuan Danqiu.

"Sir, you're a Daoist, aren't you? Traveling abroad, you must have considerable skill... This Humble One begs you to lend a hand and save us!"

Jiang She sat nearby, and Yuan Danqiu wasn't particularly terrified.

But if Yuan Danqiu were to rely on "Daoist arts" or "skill" to save people, then everyone might as well be on death's doorstep—Yuan Danqiu himself would probably die sooner than the rest.

He only had some family wealth, and ghosts didn't care about money.

Suddenly.

The candle went out.

The monk closed his eyes and began chanting Buddha's name and sutras.

Everyone's hearts tightened. Some, unable to bear the terror and pressure, broke down crying, endlessly begging the innkeeper to save them, mixing complaints with sobs and shouts.

The innkeepers seemed to have hidden themselves, nowhere to be seen.

Someone cursed loudly.

"Damn it, what kind of mess is this?"

"You dog-bastard, you're really trying to kill me."

The monk's bundle flickered faintly with golden light in the darkness.

Soon, it went out.

Everyone's faces turned grim.

From outside the courtyard, slow footsteps approached.

The wind drew near.

"Master, can the ghost outside be liberated?"

In the silence, Jiang She spoke.

Everyone listened to the two of them talk. In this oppressive quiet, even the sound of someone speaking felt precious.

"Master" was a respectful title for a monk well-versed in Buddhist scriptures.

At times like this, for instance, Tang Sanzang was called Master Sanzang.

Most people's way of addressing Daoist priests was also recorded in Tang Dynasty texts. The Six Statutes of Tang states: "Daoist practitioners have three titles: first, Master; second, Dharma Master; third, Vinaya Master..."

That monk opened his eyes and looked at the one who had spoken.

The lamps had already gone out, but fortunately his memory was good, and he roughly remembered the seating arrangement in the hall. The questioner was a traveler who had just arrived, part of the same group as the one in the Daoist robe.

From a brief glance earlier, he had seen only a figure in blue robes, bearing an uncommon air, seemingly traveling with a cat in their arms.

He hadn't expected such boldness.

"This humble monk does not know."

The monk explained: "This is a Wandering Ghost, lingering in the mortal world. It has three abilities. Dharma tools are useless against it; this humble monk can only do his utmost."

Jiang She asked: "What are the three?"

The monk replied: "First, delusion; second, possession; third, curse speech."

The lamps in the hall had gone out. The crowd was terrified, not daring to make a sound, afraid of attracting unclean things.

Only the sound of the two conversing could be heard.

The monk spoke in detail: "Delusion means beguiling people through illusions or words. Old records often tell of ghosts taking the form of a beautiful young woman or an old man or woman to deceive travelers—this is because of such an ability."

"Possession means hiding within a human body. However, such ghosts lack sufficient cultivation and often fear firelight."

"When this kind of Wandering Ghost comes, it always extinguishes lamps and candles, and one must not harm its body."

Hearing this, the crowd's faces turned ugly.

The room was now pitch black. The candle flame that had been burning inside suddenly went out, and only footsteps could be heard. Though the lantern outside the door was invisible, it was likely extinguished as well.

The monk continued.

"As for curse speech, it means foretelling calamity or casting curses. Folk tales often tell of such things; you, young sir, must have heard of them—sometimes they come true, sometimes they are false."

"When the ghost prevails over the person, it becomes true; when the person prevails over the ghost, it becomes false."

"I wonder if the ghost shadow that came tonight is here to toy with us, or for some other reason."

Jiang She listened intently.

He had mostly ignored ghosts before. The ones in the Shu Region had been sensible enough not to disturb him, so this was the first time he had heard such a detailed explanation.

"Thank you, Dharma Master."

"May I ask your Dharma name?" Jiang She inquired.

The monk pressed his palms together.

"This humble monk is Zhiyuan."

His gaze returned to the front of the door. He closed his eyes, listening to the footsteps, and recited the Buddha's name.

One breath.

Two breaths.

Suddenly, at the table beside them, the scholar began to laugh—a sound like an infant's cry with an echo, half laugh and half sob, joy and sorrow beyond words.

He asked the merchant sitting with him. His voice was very thin.

"How do you see me?"

With this question, the lamp on the wall suddenly flared to life, its flame faint.

In the dim light.

A ghostly lamp, a single thread, revealed a peach-blossom face.

It was no longer the scholar's face. The figure was gaunt, that of a woman. Seeing the merchant recoil in terror, she lifted her gaze, smiled, and asked again.

The merchant was horrified, tears and snot streaming down his face. Wherever he fled, everyone nearby scrambled out of his way.

The merchant crawled in a heap to the monk's feet, threw himself onto his knees, and cried out:

"Dharma Master! Dharma Master!"

"A ghost! A ghost—!!"

This ghost could even possess a human body, so vicious! It must be the legendary fierce ghost. Who knew if they could escape with their lives. The monk's Dharma tools were clearly useless. The crowd heard the ghost, as if angered, turn to ask others.

"How do you see me?"

"How do you see me?!"

No one dared to speak.

No one dared to answer.

In Jiang She's arms, the cat let out a small meow.

Its back arched.

It seemed frightened, its fur standing on end.

Trembling, it tried to wriggle out of Jiang She's arms, climb onto the table, and shield him. Its ears were pressed flat, its whole body shaking.

It couldn't help but retreat a few steps.

The merchant curled up under the table, leaning against the monk's leg, eyes shut tight, tears streaming down—he didn't even know if he'd ever see his mother or his child again.

The room was filled with weeping and curses.

Interspersed with the chirping whispers of ghosts.

Just as the monk had said, the living's fire was growing dimmer, and the ghostly aura ever stronger.

Amid the chaos, as everyone cowered in fear.

Jiang She gently stroked the cat, one hand smoothing from its head down its back, calming its nerves.

He looked at the possessing ghost in the room and said:

"I see you—like a ghost."

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