The Ghost Lantern's Thin Flame Revealed a Peach-Blossom Face

Li Bai glanced at the closed front doors. All he could sense was the gloomy blackness continually seeping in from outside.

He nodded.

Inside the main hall, the guests were all a little unnerved.

Their conversation grew louder, as if to bolster their courage.

"Hahaha, this batch of goods will be shipped to Luoyang. Those rich folk really have money to burn. Last time I went, I saw a young master spend several hundred strings of cash just to buy incense."

"That was only the inferior kind. The finest stuff is probably fit for the Sage alone."

Someone raised his wine cup and said:

"I heard that incense isn't used on its own, either. Those wealthy households all learn to blend incense, saying it can ward off evil, calm the mind, and summon immortals... I have to say, it does smell lovely."

"How much would that sell for? What kind of profit are we talking about?"

"How should I know? I've never even had a chance to burn incense in my life."

As he spoke, the hand gripping his wine cup had begun to tremble.

The man sitting across from him held his chopsticks, trying to pick up a slice of meat, but his hand shook so badly he couldn't manage it.

The room was gradually growing colder, touched by a chill.

The wind howled outside, rushing through the woods. They could hear the lantern hanging by the door swaying in the gusts.

A rogue draft slipped through the crack in the door. The candle flames shuddered and flickered without pause.

Light and shadow played across everyone's faces.

"Clatter—"

Someone failed to steady a cup, and it shattered on the floor.

The man jumped in fright and nearly fell over. The two scholars also jolted in alarm. By the time the merchant had shakily settled himself, it took him a long while to recover.

He raised his head and looked toward the station attendant, wanting to ask how much a bowl cost.

The merchant's lips quivered.

But what came out was, "W-what... what's going on with the ghosts here?"

The station attendant looked more miserable than if he were crying. "If we had any way to deal with them, we'd have found someone to perform an exorcism long ago. We wouldn't be living in fear day after day."

The merchant immediately looked toward the tonsured monk who was reading. A faint golden glow emerged from the bundle in front of him, offering immense comfort.

"Master! Master! Look at this ghost..."

Then he turned to Yuan Danqiu.

"Sir, you're a Daoist, aren't you? You've traveled far and wide, so you must have great abilities... I beg you to help us and save our lives!"

Mr. Jiang was sitting right beside him, and Yuan Danqiu wasn't terribly frightened.

But if everyone expected Yuan Danqiu to save them with "Daoist arts" or "great abilities," then they were practically as good as dead. Yuan Danqiu himself would probably die before the rest of them.

He had a bit of wealth, that was all. Ghosts didn't care about money.

Suddenly,

the candle flames went out.

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

Everyone's hearts tightened. Some couldn't withstand the fright and pressure, and burst into tears, repeatedly begging the station attendants to save them, complaining without pause as they wept and shouted.

The station attendants seemed to have hidden themselves. Not one of them was in sight.

Someone shouted a curse.

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

"Damn slave, you're going to get me killed!"

The faint golden light from the bundle in front of the monk glimmered softly in the darkness.

Before long, it went out.

Everyone's faces turned grim.

From outside the courtyard, footsteps slowly approached.

The wind drew nearer.

"Master, can the ghost outside be delivered from suffering?"

In the dead silence, Jiang She spoke up.

Everyone listened as the two men talked. In that oppressive atmosphere, the sound of a person speaking seemed precious.

"Master" was an honorific for a monk well-versed in Buddhist teachings.

For example, in this era, Tang Sanzang was known as the Tripitaka Master.

As for the usual way of addressing Daoist priests, the Tang dynasty had that set down in writing too. The Six Statutes of Tang recorded: "Daoist practitioners have three titles: the first is 'Master,' the second 'Dharma Master,' and the third 'Preceptor'..."

The monk opened his eyes and looked toward the speaker.

The lamps had already gone out. Fortunately, he had a good memory and had more or less remembered where everyone in the hall was sitting. The speaker was a traveler who had arrived not long ago, together with the man in Daoist robes.

He had seen them from a distance earlier. The other man wore blue and carried himself with uncommon grace; he seemed to be traveling with a cat in his arms.

The monk hadn't expected him to be so bold.

"This humble monk does not know."

The monk explained, "This is a Wandering Ghost, lingering among the living. It has three abilities. Magical artifacts are of no use; this humble monk can only do his utmost."

Jiang She asked, "What are the three?"

The monk answered, "The first is to bewilder, the second to possess, and the third to speak curses."

The lamps in the main hall were already out. Everyone was terrified and afraid to make a sound, lest they attract something unclean.

They could only hear the two men talking.

The monk explained in great detail. "To bewilder is to confuse people with illusions or words. There are many such accounts in old records. Ghosts sometimes take the form of a beautiful young woman or an old man or woman to deceive travelers; it is because they possess this ability."

"To possess is to hide within a person's body. However, these ghosts have not cultivated to a high enough level, and are often afraid of firelight."

"When a Wandering Ghost like this draws near, it usually extinguishes the lamps and candles, but does not harm the body."

At this, everyone's faces turned grim.

The room was pitch-black now. The candles that had been burning inside had suddenly gone out. They could hear only footsteps, and though they couldn't see the lantern outside the door, it had probably gone out as well.

The monk continued.

"As for speaking curses, that means foretelling disaster or laying a curse. There are many strange tales about this among the common folk. My lord must have heard them: sometimes they come true, and sometimes they are false."

"If the ghost's power surpasses the human's, they are true. If the human's power surpasses the ghost's, they are false."

"I do not know whether the ghost's appearance tonight is for mischief, or for some other reason."

Jiang She listened attentively.

Before this, he had mostly ignored ghosts. The ghosts in the Shu Region had known better than to disturb him, and this was the first time he had heard such a detailed explanation.

"Thank you, Master."

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

The monk pressed his palms together.

"This humble monk is Zhiyuan."

His gaze returned to the front doors. He closed his eyes, listened to the footsteps, and recited the Buddha's name.

One breath.

Two breaths.

Suddenly, a scholar at the next table began to laugh. It sounded like an infant wailing with an echo, like laughter and sobbing together, grief and joy beyond description.

The merchant sharing his table asked in a thin voice:

"What do you think of me?"

At his question, the wall lamp suddenly lit up, its flame faint.

In the hazy glow,

a thread of ghostly light revealed a peach-blossom face.

It was no longer the scholar's face. The figure was slender, shaped like a woman. Seeing the merchant recoil in fright, she lifted her eyes and smiled, then asked again.

The merchant was horrified, tears and snot streaming down his face. No matter where he tried to hide, everyone around him avoided him.

The merchant scrambled clumsily to the monk and threw himself against his knees, wailing:

"Master! Master!"

"There's a ghost! There's a ghost—!!"

The ghost could even possess people—how vicious! It must be the fierce ghost from the stories. They didn't know if they could escape with their lives. The monk's magical artifact was obviously useless. Everyone heard the ghost grow suddenly enraged and start asking the others instead.

"What do you think of me?"

"What do you think of me?!"

No one dared speak.

No one dared answer.

The cat in Jiang She's arms gave a tiny meow.

Her back arched, too.

She looked frightened; her fur stood on end.

Trembling, she tried to wriggle out of Jiang She's arms and climb onto the table to shield him. Her ears were pressed low, and her whole body shook.

She couldn't help retreating twice more.

The merchant crouched beneath the table, leaning against the monk's legs. His eyes were shut, and tears streamed down his face. He didn't know if he would ever see his old mother or his own children again.

The room was filled with weeping and curses.

Jiujiu's ghostly whispers mingled among them.

Just as the monk had said, the people's vital fire grew weaker, while the ghostly aura grew stronger.

Amid the chaos, with everyone fleeing and cowering in fear,

Jiang She gently stroked the cat again and again, smoothing her fur from head to back and soothing her.

He looked at the ghost possessing the person in the hall and said:

"You look like a ghost to me."