Clay figurines hurled themselves into Brush Pot. As though it had infinite capacity, Brush Pot opened its deep, shadowy mouth and ceaselessly took in the clay figurines.
Shen Le stood to one side, watching the clay figurines come and go. The temple's divine statues strode up to Brush Pot, and specks of light flew out, falling among the clay figurines;
then more specks of light flew out from among the clay figurines, circling wistfully twice before entering the divine statues. Back and forth they went, accompanied by an unceasing soft humming:
"Leave it to you!"
"Miss Li's safety is in your hands!"
"Kill a few more Tatars for me!"
"Don't worry! Until I am ground to dust, I will never let the Tatars cross the battle line by a single step!"
They laughed boldly and bid each other reluctant farewells. There were battle spirits, warhorses, nearby old scholars, elderly gentry, even long-lived old farmers, infants who had died young at birth, and infants taken in by the temple—
Specks of light circled several times, whistled around several times, then rushed into the divine statues like fireflies. Only after a long while did it stop. Then another batch of light specks surged into the temple:
A gust of Yin wind circled endlessly before the altar. After a long while, the incense candles before the chief divine statue flared to life with a whoosh, releasing curling wisps of smoke. Within the smoke, the light specks continuously swelled, revealing their true forms.
They were all nearby demons and spirits who had failed to survive their tribulations, their souls taken in by the temple after death. At this moment, shrouded in incense smoke, they all revealed their original appearances:
weasels beaten to death, Foxes bitten to death by dogs, wolves with their spines severed,