The landing was an old one built of black stone. The ghosts wore all manner of expressions, some trembling with unspoken excitement, others uneasy and afraid.
He Xin looked no different from a living person. With a stone cradled in her arms, she stood out among the ghosts preparing to board.
Although many ghosts looked at He Xin, most had evidently been warned not to do anything unnecessary at Nether Crossing, so not one of them spoke.
Thirty or forty ghosts waited at the landing, none daring to stand too close to the river.
From the bank, a veil of mist now hung over the water, making it impossible to tell how wide the river was.
All they could see were ghosts appearing in the water, weeping and pleading, while endless cries of injustice rose from the river.
A ferry slowly approached. The ferryman at the stern was shrouded in shadow, dressed in a straw rain cape and a bamboo hat. His face was hidden; they could not even tell whether he was a ghost or a god.
"Save me-" "Please, let me aboard!"
"I was wronged!" "Let me on the boat-"
The spirits in the river grew agitated, and the water beneath the boat teemed with ghosts.
But the ghosts could not fight the current. Usually, only luck allowed them to linger beside the boat for a moment before the waves swept them away. They could not remain in one place for long.
The ferryman did not look toward the landing, but toward the distant Road to the Yellow Springs, where a faint cloud of shadow hovered.
Presumably, a God of the Netherworld was watching from that direction.
Only then did the ferryman look at those waiting to board this time. Thirty-one in all; they could just squeeze in.