The Unclosed Eyes of the Dead Are Called Spiritual Wishes

The Unclosed Eyes of the Dead Are Called Spiritual Wishes

Yu Chen had heard all this from the Corpse Mover on a morning when the snow fell in vast, surging sheets.

It was already the third day since Knife-Face and Big Strong had been captured.

That morning, the Corpse Mover brought another body up the mountain.

According to him, the corpse belonged to an old fish seller from the Hanging Bridge area. Unable to withstand the bitter winter cold, the old man had lain down at home and breathed his last.

The old fish seller had neither sons nor daughters, only the fishy smell that had accompanied him all his life. It was his neighbors who, seeing that he had not gone out for several days, grew worried and went to check on him.

When they pushed open the door, they found the old man lying on his bed, already stiff, with no idea when he had stopped breathing.

The old man had no relatives, so naturally the Corpse Mover was the only one who could carry him up the mountain.

But after the Corpse Mover left, Yu Chen stood before the grave, staring blankly at the brand-new wooden marker.

He closed his eyes and gazed directly into his inner landscape, only to find the Scripture of Deliverance rising and falling without rest. None of that night's strange phenomena appeared again.

After a quarter of an hour, Yu Chen could no longer bear the freezing weather and went inside.

Yet even after the snow stopped and the sun rose high in the sky, no new words appeared in the Scripture of Deliverance.

He shut the doors and windows, took out the scroll, and unfolded it.

Amid the endless mist and bizarre scenery, smoke-stained words emerged once more.

[Book Holder: Yu Chen]

[Office: None]

[Cultivation: None]

[Divine Ability: Paper Effigies and Paper Horses]

Compared to last time, an extra entry had appeared beneath Divine Ability: "Paper Effigies and Paper Horses," signifying that Yu Chen had initially grasped that uncanny Paper Effigy and Paper Horse Technique.

As for Gui Snowfish's "last wish," it had vanished completely along with the beggar's soul crossing the river.

And when the second corpse was carried up the mountain, no further words appeared.

Sitting on a creaking wooden stool, Yu Chen lowered his gaze in thought.

By now, he had more or less figured out the purpose of this so-called Scripture of Deliverance.

—Delivering the dead.

When Yu Chen, as the Book Holder, fulfilled a dead person's last wish, the book would grant him a reward.

Paper Effigies and Paper Horses was the first reward he had received.

It was also the key to making Knife-Face and Big Strong return in defeat, feathers scattered and wings broken.

But this time, when the old fish seller's corpse was brought up the mountain, Yu Chen stood before his grave for a long while without seeing any so-called last wish of the dead.

That gave Yu Chen a realization.

"Could it be that only the dead who harbor obsessions can form these so-called spiritual wishes? Only then can they be drawn into the river by the Scripture of Deliverance?"

Though he had no conclusive proof, Yu Chen was eight or nine parts certain that his guess was right.

But after a brief moment of disappointment, he smiled freely.

"So be it. At least it proves that the old fish seller died with his eyes closed."

With that thought, his mind cleared. Yu Chen rose to his feet and started a fire to cook.

But the strange thing about worldly affairs was their fickle unpredictability.

When Yu Chen clung to thoughts of spiritual wishes and the rewards of the Scripture of Deliverance, they refused to come. But once his thoughts cleared and his heart eased, that same palpitating sensation surfaced again.

Following the feeling, Yu Chen pushed open the door and saw a dim ghostly light flicker before his eyes.

But the source of that ghostly light was not the newly buried old fish seller. It came from beyond Qingfeng Mausoleum.

"Where there is life, there must be death. Man is never spared the haste of fate. Yesterday we were both human; this morning, recorded among ghosts..." A lilting funeral song echoed through the swirling snow, mournful and desolate, laden with reluctance toward life, death, and parting.

First came the voice, then the people.

As the lyrics lingered by his ears, Yu Chen looked up and saw yellowed spirit money fluttering down beyond the mausoleum alongside the heavy snow.

An elderly man dressed like a Daoist walked at the front, his steps exaggerated and his bearing strange as he led the way.

Behind the old Daoist, an aged woman in plain white clothes, her hair silver-white, wept with reddened eyes.

At her side stood a tall young man with a square face, equally grief-stricken and silent.

Further back came several men in black lapels, carrying a square yellowwood coffin as they walked expressionlessly onward.

Under Yu Chen's gaze, the group entered Qingfeng Mausoleum. The men carrying the coffin set it down and began digging the earth; the old Daoist waved a yellow banner, making arrangements with gods and ghosts so the deceased might travel smoothly; the old woman and the young man lit incense and candles, kowtowing and kneeling to bid farewell to the dead.

Half an hour later, they went back down the mountain.

Only burnt spirit paper and ashes remained scattered across the ground.

As the gravekeeper of Qingfeng Mausoleum, Yu Chen had long grown accustomed to such scenes.

Unlike the beggar obsessed with eating Gui Snowfish and the old fish seller with neither kith nor kin, who had both been carried here by the Corpse Mover, most of those buried in Qingfeng Mausoleum, though poor, had households and families. Naturally, relatives saw them into their coffins, hired Daoists to clear the way, and sent them onto the road to the netherworld.

Over the past few years, Yu Chen had witnessed far too many such partings of the living and the dead.

But unlike every time before, today, in his eyes, a ghostly light flickered unsteadily atop that fresh grave mound.

Like a candle flame in the wind.

Yu Chen suddenly understood that the person in the coffin possessed a powerful unfulfilled wish.

With a thought, he gripped the Scripture of Deliverance in his hand.

The ghostly light rose up, transforming into a shadow that followed him into the room.

After shutting the doors and windows, Yu Chen sat back down on the bed. The figure stood before him with its head lowered.

Looking closely, it had a hunched body, an aged face, burial clothes upon it, and feet that did not touch the ground. It was absolutely not among the living.

With his previous experience, though Yu Chen felt a faint chill in his heart, he no longer showed panic and terror on his face.

He spread his hands and opened the Scripture of Deliverance.

Golden light shot from the scroll and drew the ghost into it.

By the Yellow Springs River, another ghostly figure stood.

An old, desolate voice of lamentation echoed by his ears.

"Past sixty years of age, toiling half my life, I should have enjoyed the blessings of family. Yet beneath my knee is an unfilial son, good for nothing—ah, what sorrow!"

At the same time, smoke-stained words appeared again at the beginning of the scroll.

[Ordinary Wish, Ninth Rank]

[The Prodigal Son Returns]

[Time Limit: Thirty-Six Hours]

[Reward Upon Completion]

Looking at those words, Yu Chen felt the world spin around him.

Scenes like a revolving lantern emerged before his eyes.

By the lakeside of Hanging Bridge in Weishui County Seat, there was a shoemaker.

The shoemaker had been born poor. At ten years old, his parents had sent him away to study under a master. He served for two years before learning the trade at twelve. He worked diligently for half his life, and after seeing his master off, his shoe-mending and shoemaking skills had reached the pinnacle of perfection. In the Hanging Bridge area of Weishui County Seat, he had gained a modest reputation.

With reputation came money.

Though mending and making shoes was but a minor trade, far beneath studying, martial arts, or commerce, it still earned him some silver over the course of a year.

Later, he set up his own shop, married, and had a son. He became an old shoemaker. Though he could not be called rich or noble, he at least lived free from worries over food and clothing.

To outsiders, the old shoemaker's family ought to have been peaceful and harmonious, with no lack of food or clothing.

But every household had its own scripture too difficult to recite.

The old shoemaker's heartache was his son.

The boy had been rebellious since childhood. When it came to reading and writing, he cut corners and loafed around. Yet in football and cricket fighting, he possessed extraordinary talent.

More than a decade slipped away in such wastefulness, and he never found a proper livelihood.

The old shoemaker wanted him to learn the family trade, but the unfilial son worked at it three days and dried his nets for two.

He often enraged the old couple until their world went dark, leaving them beating their chests and stamping their feet.

But had that been all, it would not have mattered so much.

The old shoemaker had never amassed any great fortune, but he had at least saved some money. It was not enough for brocade clothes and jade meals, but it was enough for that unfilial son to marry, have children, and live out his life in peace.

But disaster came because he touched what he should never have touched.

—Gambling.

In the Skybridge area of Weishui County Seat stood Tongbao Gambling House, the notorious largest gambling den.

Whether lured in by fair-weather friends or seized by a sudden impulse, the old shoemaker's son plunged headlong inside and gambled for three days and three nights.

Three days later, he was stripped naked and thrown out of the gambling house, then staggered home in disgrace.

When the old shoemaker and his wife questioned him, their anger erupted at once. They cursed their unfilial son for being ignorant and incompetent, a good-for-nothing loafer.

But that was not the end of it.

The next day, people from the gambling house arrived with an IOU in hand. On it was the old shoemaker's son's signature and seal, black words written on white paper!

Though the old shoemaker knew that nine out of ten gambles at that house were scams, Tongbao Gambling House had deep backing and kept a pack of ruffians on its payroll. Though the old shoemaker trembled with rage from head to toe, he had no choice but to submit. After repaying his son's debts, eight or nine tenths of his life's savings were gone.

Later, he learned that the unfilial son was still borrowing money everywhere, intending to challenge the gambling house again and rise anew from the ashes.

In a fit of fury, the old shoemaker spat blood and died.

That was how this funeral came to be.

Even as he died, he worried and muttered: now that heaven and man were forever divided, his wife was old, his unfilial son had no skills—how were they to live in the days ahead?

Thus it became an obsession. He died with unclosed eyes, and it lingered without dispersing.

Only after a long while did Yu Chen open his eyes. With a long sigh, he exhaled the stale air from his chest.

He felt sorrow for the old shoemaker.

After toiling for most of his life, he had finally reached the age when he should enjoy retirement, only to meet with such a calamity.

At the same time, Yu Chen sighed over that unfilial son. How utterly disappointing!

Free of shackles, able to study and read, practice martial arts, or engage in commerce—yet he chose none of them.

His old father had a fine trade at home, yet he refused to learn it.

Even so, he could have lived his whole life without worry, but he still insisted on touching that harmful vice of gambling, enraging his father to death and squandering the family fortune!

—Though Yu Chen of this life had no concrete understanding of gambling, the memories of his previous life had firmly remembered one saying.

With the Yellow Heaven above as witness, I swear never to coexist under the same sky with gambling and drugs.

But after watching the revolving-lantern scenes of the old shoemaker's life, Yu Chen more or less understood his final wish.

It was not to recover the family fortune the gambling house had cheated away, but to make that worthless son awaken completely, plant his feet firmly on the ground, and turn back from the wrong path.

That gave Yu Chen a slight headache.

Surely, over the years, the old shoemaker and his wife had tried to persuade that wastrel countless times, with little effect.

He would not even listen to his own father and mother. What method could Yu Chen, a mere gravekeeper, possibly have to make this prodigal son return?

Yu Chen sat there for two hours.

Only when the pot was steaming and the firewood in the stove was about to die out did his eyes light up, and he finally formed a plan.