A muffled voice came through the phone: “I’m at the library entrance, wearing black clothes and holding a black umbrella. I’m easy to spot.”
I parked my car in a roadside spot and carried the flowers out. Passing students thought I was delivering flowers, casting curious and envious glances my way.
By the small path, two middle-aged men in camouflage sat in front of a van, smoking and grumbling. “Business is too tough these days,” one said. “Even collecting scrap gets intercepted. It’s not like we’re playing mahjong.”
I quietly passed by with the flowers, hoping they wouldn’t realize I was the one who’d “intercepted” their scrap.
Soon, I spotted the man in black clothes holding a black umbrella. It was already dark, and it wasn’t raining—carrying a black umbrella seemed odd.
As I approached, I noticed his eyes were deeply sunken. His hand trembled slightly as he took the flowers, a subtle shake that was easy to miss. His face carried a sickly air, overshadowing the vibrant energy of youth.
“Are you Han Zongnan?” I asked.
He took the flowers without saying much, handed me a hundred yuan, and said, “Keep the change.” Then, holding the bright red roses under his black umbrella, he vanished from my sight.
Moments later, a sharp screech of brakes came from the main road, followed by a lively clamor and then a furious shout. I thought it might be a love confession or students fighting.
With the afternoon’s tasks done, I was waiting for notifications from Shen Yihu and Professor Yao Baobao. I got into my Wuling van to head back for dinner, but when I reached the main road, traffic was at a standstill. A group of students had formed a human chain, blocking the road. There’d been a car accident, and they were protecting the scene, waiting for the police and ambulance.
The sky darkened, and a light rain began to fall. I wasn’t going anywhere soon, so I called Xie Lingyu. “There’s been an accident, and the road’s blocked. I’ll be late. Feed the cats and dogs at home first.”
Xie Lingyu replied, “Be careful. It’s raining, and the roads will be slippery.”
I turned off the engine and got out to check the scene. I ran into the two scrap collectors again, still complaining about losing hundreds of pounds of waste paper. Feeling uneasy, I offered them each a cigarette and made small talk.
“Why are so many students blocking the road?” I asked. One of the men chuckled. “Tomorrow’s May Day holiday, right? People are heading out to travel or go on dates. Probably rushing for the train and stumbled onto the accident.”
The cigarette I was holding for show dropped to the ground. My heart sank. Tomorrow was May 1st, which meant today was April 30th. Could it really be that coincidental?
I graduated in 2006, and back then, I’d heard about a bizarre headless case. On April 30, 1999, a murder occurred. Though years had passed, the case was never solved. Each new batch of students heard the story from their seniors, along with all sorts of speculations. The case, in one sentence: a girl named Bai Yu died, and her skull was never found.
I rushed toward the scene, the fine rain pelting my face, raising goosebumps all over my body.
Buddhism speaks of cause and effect, of proving the truth through karma. Everything happening to me made it hard not to believe in such things. Could it be that Bai Yu had returned? A chill ran through me, the feeling growing stronger.
Perhaps, in these ten years, Bai Yu had never left! After reading some Feng Shui texts, I knew the school’s layout was scientifically designed, adhering to architectural principles. The few areas with a colder, yin energy were guarded by stone lions or qilin statues. How could Bai Yu linger for a decade? I hoped I was wrong.
The students had surrounded the accident site. Inside the car was a young guy, locking the doors and refusing to come out. A team soon arrived at the scene. Since it happened on campus, the authorities handled it with some leniency, not overly suppressing the students’ enthusiasm.
Among the human wall, the injured student was still breathing. Several doctors from the school clinic rushed to provide first aid.
The injured student was finally loaded onto a 120 ambulance stretcher and rushed to the best hospital in the city center. The school leadership promised to cover all expenses upfront. Traffic police and officers surveyed the scene, taking photos and determining responsibility. One doctor, with two scars on his face, glared at the student in the car with rage, kicking the vehicle twice before a police officer shouted at him to calm down and not escalate things before responsibility was assigned.
A school official with a megaphone announced, “Tomorrow’s a holiday. Go travel, have fun, and trust the police and the school.”
In the crowd, Han Zongnan, with his black umbrella, appeared before me again, coldly watching the events unfold.
A ten-year path of restless spirits—after a decade, she was back.
The rain was light that night. I drove back to Bai Meng Flower Shop, where Xie Lingyu was already open for business. Seeing my troubled expression, she asked what had happened.
I said, “First, Professor Yao couldn’t decipher the text or patterns on the bronze jar. Second, the accident tonight reminded me of the headless murder case from ten years ago—both happened on the same day.”
Xie Lingyu said, “If you’ve really stumbled onto this, you should investigate. You can’t pretend it didn’t happen. If she died in such a gruesome way, her resentment might be heavy. A decade-long cycle of life and death, a hard path for a restless spirit. If she’s back, someone else might die because of it.”
After death, the worst sinners are taken by the Ox-Head and Horse-Face demons, while ordinary good people are claimed by Black and White Impermanence. Bai Yu was an ordinary girl; her soul should’ve been taken by Black and White Impermanence. Why would she return? Was there truly an unresolved grievance? Did Black and White Impermanence let her go?
The case went like this: In 1999, 18-year-old Bai Yu went missing. At dawn, a cleaning lady found a black bag in a trash bin, thinking it contained pork. She took it home to make soup but discovered a human finger while washing it and immediately reported it to the police.
The body was Bai Yu’s. Recalling the case sent shivers down my spine. If she’d truly walked a ten-year path as a restless spirit, I might be facing a formidable female ghost.
Rumors persisted that Bai Yu’s head was never found. The story grew more terrifying with each retelling, and Bai Yu became a lightning rod for all sorts of bizarre incidents linked to her.
The book Jicheng says: “Ghosts remain in the world only out of necessity.” They linger not by choice but due to some unresolved fate.
After all, the mortal world isn’t theirs. They endure three sufferings: First, the pain of daylight, wandering in dark, oppressive places, unable to see the sun. Second, the suffering of drifting, with no tangible body, their ghostly form fragile, easily scattered by strong winds, and constantly evading malicious people, dogs, demons, and spirits. Third, the endless suffering of restless souls, unable to move on, tormented by time. Some lucky ones might drift to an ancient temple, hear a monk’s chants, and find salvation—but those are rare.
Of the ghosts that remain, only one in ten thousand become vengeful spirits. Enduring such torment, they won’t rest until they exact revenge. That’s the challenge.
Finding Bai Yu’s spirit would take time, and whether I could subdue it was uncertain.
My hesitation was natural, especially with the constant threat of Chong Laowu and the Huang clan looming, keeping me on edge.
Xie Lingyu said, “From a philosophical perspective of unity of knowledge and action, studying daily builds your foundation, but real progress comes from practical experience. Don’t you agree?”
Her words hit like a revelation. Growth comes faster through real-world trials. I nodded. “I’ll try.”
Xie Lingyu handed me a small stone she’d received yesterday. “Grind it into powder. According to Jicheng, use it to draw ghost-catching talismans. Gather the materials, and you’re set.”
The black stone, called a spirit ghost stone, was once an ordinary pebble carried by a lesser ghost. Over time, it absorbed spiritual energy, becoming ideal for grinding into powder to draw talismans for capturing malevolent spirits.
Some might wonder why ghosts carry small stones instead of large ones. Ghosts, traditionally weighing only “three taels,” can’t handle heavy objects. Lesser ghosts carry small stones to play pranks at night, striking people with them. Many who travel late at night feel something hit them—that’s the work of these stones.
Another theory is that ghosts carry small stones to anchor themselves against strong winds that might scatter them.
Looking at the stone, I realized it was the one an eight-year-old boy brought last night. Could he have been a ghost, truly delivering flowers to his mother?
A ghost trading a spirit stone for flowers, only to pick up another stone afterward, wasn’t a bad deal.
Xie Lingyu said, “Go home and draw the talismans. Ghost sect talismans use white paper and black ink, unlike the yellow paper of Taoist Chen-style talismans. Choose the right talismans carefully.”
I figured she was wary of me drawing talismans in the shop, as it might affect her negatively. I took the little black dog and headed to my rented place.
At the door, Xie Lingyu added, “When you go to the flower market tomorrow, see if you can find white Lycoris flowers.”
I agreed.
Lycoris, also called Manjushage, is named “the flower of the other shore” because its flowers and leaves never appear together. Some say it grows by the River Styx, but that’s just myth. Red Lycoris grows in shady places in the mortal world, not the underworld.
Commonly used as a medicinal herb, Lycoris reduces heat, lowers blood pressure, and even has cosmetic benefits. The flower carries a mystical aura, mostly red. Why did Xie Lingyu want white ones?
Curious, I asked, “Why do you need white Lycoris? If you’re feeling overheated, try honeysuckle or chrysanthemum tea. For beauty, a face mask or cucumber slices would do.”
I realized I’d spouted nonsense. She’s a ghost—how could she be overheated?
Xie Lingyu said softly, “I want to meet someone on the other side of the River Styx…”
I laughed. “You’re a ghost. If you go to the Styx to find someone, won’t the Day and Night Patrol Gods catch you and toss you into a mountain of knives or a sea of fire? Are you joking?”
Xie Lingyu fell silent. After a moment, she said, “Hurry and find Bai Yu. Don’t let her harm anyone and add to her sins.”
As a child, I’d heard elders say a coffin is a person’s final cradle, floating down the River Styx to the end of time and the world.
Later, I realized Xie Lingyu wasn’t joking. She did go to the underworld.
But that’s a story for later.
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