Words Come Alive, a Ghost Born in the Heart!

"What do you mean by that?"

Chen Cuo looked puzzled as he watched Zhou Youzi. Seeing the solemn look on his face, Chen Cuo's thoughts raced.

He noticed that Zhou Youzi's tone even carried a hint of respect. This was no simple matter, but he had no idea what the man meant.

The Incense Way's methods? That sounds like a way to pursue supernatural power, but all I've done these past few days is copy books and promote them. I haven't encountered any cultivation methods, much less had time to practice. Chen Fangqing had no foundation to speak of, either. However I look at it, apart from Dream Marsh, there's been nothing supernatural at all. Wait...

He kept his expression steady, but his heart gave a jolt.

He can't mean Dream Marsh!

Zhou Youzi studied Chen Cuo's face, then said, "Let me put it another way. Did you write that story yourself, or did someone guide you?"

I copied it, actually!

Do you know Pu Songling?

Of course you don't. He won't be born for another thousand years.

Despite those thoughts, Chen Cuo knew he had to be careful. This concerned Dream Marsh, which might be the foundation of his future. He could not expose it. If it drew someone's covetous eye, the consequences would be beyond his control.

But he did not dare make his denial too absolute. If there truly was something strange about the story, leaving himself no room to maneuver would only make matters worse. After a moment's hesitation, he said, "To tell you the truth, Daoist Master, that story came to me in a dream. I'd known it by heart for some time and had been meaning to write it down. Then the matter of public esteem came up, so I wrote it in one sitting and had copies distributed. Why? Is there a problem?"

"In a dream?" Zhou Youzi narrowed his eyes and studied Chen Cuo.

"That's right!"

Under the half-hearted Daoist's gaze, Chen Cuo felt a chill all over. He instinctively wanted to cover the Gourd tucked against his chest, but forced himself to stay still. His experience in business negotiations in his previous life had taught him how easily an unconscious gesture could draw attention—and how disastrous that could be now.

At last, Zhou Youzi looked away. If anything, he seemed unsettled.

After a moment's thought, he asked, "Did you gain anything else from this dream, my lord?"

"A little, but it's still hazy." Since he had already settled on an excuse, Chen Cuo fleshed it out. "From past experience, once the outline of a story takes shape in a dream, a few more nights' sleep gradually bring it into focus. It's like recalling something I'd forgotten, piece by piece."

Though he had cobbled the lie together on the spot, his years in business had taught him to weave truth into falsehood. He had borrowed details from his own experience of arriving in this world and inheriting fragments of memory. If Zhou Youzi pressed him, he could answer each question.

But Zhou Youzi asked nothing more. At the words "gradually bring it into focus," he froze. Then he drew a deep breath, lightly tapped his fingers, and frowned as though faced with a difficult puzzle.

Chen Cuo waited. When Zhou Youzi still said nothing, he glanced at the Talisman Paper on the doors and windows and finally gathered the courage to ask, "Daoist Master, what is this Incense Way you mentioned? Why do you think I'm cultivating it?"

Zhou Youzi seemed to come back to himself. His fingers stilled. "The Incense Way differs from the methods we cultivators use, but it too is a path toward the Dao. It gathers Human Thought and intentions to nourish the practitioner. According to my Master, it arose only a few centuries ago. Compared with our Guangcheng Dao Lineage, it is a newcomer. Our lineage draws from many schools, embraces their teachings, and cultivates the self, stripping away the false to find the true. You could call it a path of self-cultivation. The Incense Way, by contrast, borrows the power of people's hearts and collective thoughts..."

Chen Cuo was surprised. If he remembered correctly, Zhou Youzi had said just days ago that his sect primarily cultivated the mind. Did that not make it closer to the Incense Way?

As if reading his mind, Zhou Youzi said, "My branch draws on some Mind Way techniques, chiefly Buddhism's methods of Incense offerings. But our roots go back to Pre-Qin times, and what we cultivate is our own minds. That is different from gathering the Mind Thoughts of others. Besides, the Incense Way has all manner of methods. Some are difficult to imagine. For instance..."

He pointed at the bookshelf. "Writing books!"

Chen Cuo stared.

You can cultivate by writing books? There's a deal like that?

Then he realized that if writing could serve as cultivation, Zhou Youzi's earlier questions must have had something to do with "The Painted Skin."

With that in mind, Chen Cuo asked, "Daoist Master, how does writing cultivate anything? Is there something unusual about my story?"

"My sect incorporates certain methods of the Incense Way. Had you asked someone else, they might not have been able to answer you," Zhou Youzi sighed. "I misjudged the matter. I never expected you to possess what seems to be wisdom from a past life, my lord, or to move people's hearts through a story. If the method truly came to you in a dream, there may be another reason behind it. What you wrote happened to accord with the essence of the Incense Way..."

At that, he gave Chen Cuo a searching look.

"My Master once told me that when a story is written according to the proper method, its words and sentences gain a spirit of their own. As it spreads and stirs people's hearts, their thoughts and intentions gradually gather, building the writer's Dao Attainment!"

Chen Cuo understood at once. So that was how it worked. Then a headache set in. If even the way he had written the story followed some special pattern, and he had done so without knowing it, that would be hard to explain.

After all, he did not know why it had happened himself.

Could Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio really possess such mysteries when written in this world?

Is it because most of its stories are about spirits and ghosts?

What about its other stories? What about the other books in Dream Marsh? Or is it because the story came from Dream Marsh?

There were too many questions and no answers.

Then another question occurred to him—

"If this can build cultivation, why haven't I seen the slightest benefit?"

He looked himself over. He still had the same youthful build, with no sign of progress.

Zhou Youzi asked, "Do you truly not understand, my lord?"

"I truly don't," Chen Cuo said with a nod.

Zhou Youzi's frown deepened.

"If I understood, why would I have exposed it so easily?" Chen Cuo cupped his hands. "If you know, Daoist Master, please tell me plainly." Unease stirred in his heart. Cultivating the wrong way could easily lead to a disastrous deviation!

"That is precisely the problem." Zhou Youzi sighed again. "No cultivation method succeeds in a single step. One generally begins with Foundation Establishment, then nurtures and accumulates power until there is enough to advance. The key is being able to release and gather that power at will. Even methods that cultivate something outside the body through an external medium cannot simply sever its connection to the practitioner. One must keep it under control at all times."

Chen Cuo's expression changed. He had begun to guess what was coming.

Sure enough, Zhou Youzi continued, "If you truly obtained this method in a dream, or happened to write a story that accords with the thoughts of the Incense Way and stirs people's hearts, yet have no method to draw those human thoughts back and control them, then you have only a way to spread them, not to gather them. Those thoughts will eventually arise and collect on their own, with no way to direct them or put them to use. The consequences are difficult to predict."

Chen Cuo grew more uneasy. "It could get out of control?"

"That puts it well. Control would be lost. Human thoughts have no form or substance, and no end. As they continue to gather, the words gain a spirit, but no one governs them. They may come alive. Once that happens, they tend to trace their origins and take on the nature of the story!" Zhou Youzi's face grew graver. "The farther the story spreads and the longer it is left alone, the harder it will be to control!"

Words in a story can come alive?

"By what you're saying, Daoist Master, if they take on the nature of the story, then..." Chen Cuo started in alarm. The hair on his body stood on end. A chill brushed his back, as though something were pressed against it. "Could they even give rise to that Evil Ghost from The Painted Skin?"

"Exactly!" Zhou Youzi fixed his gaze on Chen Cuo and raised his voice. "Think about the Evil Ghost you pictured while you were writing!"

Chen Cuo instinctively searched his memory. A blue-purple ghostly face began to surface in his mind, and he shuddered.

At that very moment!

Zhou Youzi suddenly let out a thunderous shout. He flung up an arm, his sleeve billowing, and a piece of talisman paper shot toward Chen Cuo. Before Chen Cuo could react, it was right before his forehead!

"!"

It happened without warning. Zhou Youzi struck with lightning speed, his palm moving so fast it left an afterimage!

Chen Cuo had no chance to react. The Talisman Paper slapped onto his forehead, and his whole body grew heavy. His hands and feet would not move. He tried to speak, but even his tongue refused to obey.

Only his eyes could move. He fixed them on Zhou Youzi.

"Please don't blame me, my lord. The surprise was necessary! The story came from you. If an Evil Ghost has taken shape from it, it will be linked to your mind. I couldn't warn you beforehand. I hope you'll forgive me!" As Zhou Youzi spoke, he formed a Sword Art gesture with his right hand and began to chant.

Chen Cuo could not move, much less answer. Shock and anger surged through him. Unable to tell whether Zhou Youzi was speaking the truth, he could only watch as the man pointed the Sword Art gesture at him!

He holds the knife, and I'm the meat on the chopping block. Without Divine Ability or Daoist arts, I can't even control whether I live or die!

At that moment, a seed took root deep in Chen Cuo's heart.

Before he could give it another thought, everything changed!

"Wooo..."

A wretched wail rang out. Chen Cuo's whole body jolted, and he felt as if he had plunged into an icehouse. Cold pierced him to the bone. An icy wind swirled above his head, raising the hairs on his neck!

It was no metaphor. The cold was real!

Though the day was sweltering, he felt as if he had fallen naked into the depths of winter. He trembled all over. His skin turned blue-purple in moments, and his teeth began to chatter!

"What..."

Fighting the cold, Chen Cuo widened his eyes and glanced upward—

A pitch-black vortex had appeared out of nowhere in midair. Amid soft whispers at his ear, words and sentences emerged from the Emptiness, drifting and spinning through the air before gathering in the vortex.

He looked closer and recognized several lines. They were the passages in "The Painted Skin" that described the Evil Ghost!

Cold spread through the room. Even the light dimmed.

Suddenly, a withered, wrinkled hand the color of a bruise—like an old person's claw—reached out from the black vortex!