The silver moonlight bathed the ground, while everywhere, the mournful chirping of crickets filled the night air. A unique fragrance of the evening drifted through the atmosphere, weaving itself into a soft, invisible net that enveloped everything in sight. Nothing appeared as real as it did in daylight; every blade of grass and every tree was cloaked in this delicate veil, shrouded in a hazy, surreal hue. Each object concealed its details and guarded its secrets. The white clouds hung low, and the starry sky seemed especially vast and distant. Thus, the tranquil village of Xiushui was immersed in a dreamlike serenity.
Without lanterns to light their way, the three of them had no choice but to tread carefully over scattered patches of moonlight, feeling their way along the rough path home. Old Granny Fan, whose eyesight had long since weakened with age, was practically blind in such darkness. Sure enough, she had barely taken a few steps before she tripped and fell face-first into the dirt. Luckily, the weather hadn’t turned bitterly cold yet—if it had, the hard, frozen ground might have left her seriously injured. Seeing this wouldn’t do, Liu Dashao decided to have Village Chief Tian lead the way while he supported Granny Fan from behind. They cautiously descended the slope at a slow pace, afraid she might not be able to keep up. Step by step, stop by stop, it seemed an eternity before they finally passed through the graveyard.
The midnight wind was icy and seemed to pierce straight into the bones, making all three instinctively tighten their coats and tuck their hands into their sleeves. When they finally reached Xiao Ma’s house, it was nearly eleven o’clock. In the countryside, people rise with the sun and sleep with the moon, so most were already tucked under their blankets, either making love or dreaming of immortals. However, Xiao Ma’s mother was still wide awake. At this moment, she was sitting in the courtyard on a small stool, nervously cracking open home-roasted pumpkin seeds and anxiously waiting at the gate. Her face lit up with relief only when she heard the knock from Granny Fan and the others, and she hurriedly rushed to open the door.
“Chen’s wife, where’s your old man?” Granny Fan asked with a wrinkled smile as she saw Xiao Ma’s mother at the door.
“That heartless bastard? He’s probably still in town trading grain, not even caring about the life or death of his own son!” At the mention of her husband, she immediately grew furious, hands on hips, grumbling loudly, “This afternoon I asked a truck driver to deliver a message to him—I wonder if he even got it.”
“Haha, the things I arranged earlier—you didn’t move them, did you?” Granny Fan stepped into the courtyard, limping slightly—she must have sprained her ankle.
“No, no, no…” Xiao Ma’s mother waved her hands repeatedly, “Whether my child lives or dies now depends entirely on you, Immortal Maiden. How dare I touch your things?”
“Good,” Granny Fan smiled, “We’re all neighbors here—no need for such formalities. I’ll do my best.”
“Then please come inside quickly—it’s cold out here!” Xiao Ma’s mother respectfully led Granny Fan into the house, followed by Village Chief Tian and Liu Dashao. Meanwhile, Liu Laoshi and Dog Egg’s father had already gone home. After all, it was late at night, and it wouldn’t look good for a man to stay in a house where only a woman was present.
Inside the living room, they found that the central octagonal table had been folded and hidden behind the door, freeing up a large space. The four small stools that normally accompanied it had been pushed into a corner, left standing alone. In the cleared space stood a tall rectangular altar, about a meter high, made of dark brown wood. Its surface had been finely polished, with delicate carvings of dragons and phoenixes along the seams. However, one corner was chipped, and deep scratches marked its surface, indicating it was an antique of considerable age. On either side of the altar burned two white candles. Beneath each flame sat a small porcelain dish, round and shallow—perfect for holding ink in a scholar’s studio. But in the countryside, such dishes were usually used for pickled vegetables, just enough for a family to accompany a meal of plain rice—practical and economical. Upon closer inspection, the dish on the left held a thick red liquid of unknown origin. The one on the right was simple and clear—just plain water.
“What are you standing around for? Sit down!” Granny Fan pointed at the stools in the corner, signaling for Village Chief Tian and the others to sit. Village Chief Tian nodded and fetched a stool, while Liu Dashao and Xiao Ma’s mother followed suit. They all noticed how serious and stern Granny Fan looked, as though someone owed her a fortune, and no one could guess what she was planning.
“The wind is strong tonight—close the door!” Granny Fan finally said after inspecting the altar. As Liu Dashao stood up to do so, Village Chief Tian quickly beat him to it, shutting and locking the door tightly. Turning back with a smile, he asked, “Any other orders, Immortal Maiden?”
“No, thank you,” Granny Fan replied with a nod. She carefully opened a drawer in the altar and pulled out a tightly wrapped bundle, layered like a tightly bound cabbage. With one hand holding the bundle steady, she gently untied the outer knot, her fingers spiraling around the cloth until she removed the first layer. But this was only the first of many. Wiping sweat from her brow, she began on the second layer, while Liu Dashao watched with growing curiosity. What could possibly be so precious that this old woman treated it like a treasure? “Grandma’s grave, no—this thing must be worth more than a father!” he muttered to himself. While he pondered, Granny Fan continued, layer after layer, until the once coconut-sized bundle was now barely the size of a corn cob. After several more minutes, the object was finally revealed—a small, black monk statue, about ten centimeters tall. Under the light of the oil lamp, it gleamed, reflecting light in fish-scale patterns across the room. Stranger still, Liu Dashao couldn’t tell what material it was made of. If it were stone, it couldn’t be so translucent, revealing faint veins inside. If jade, he’d never heard of such a color in all his years.
With both hands, Granny Fan reverently placed the statue onto the lotus pedestal at the center of the altar. She lit three sticks of incense, bowed three times, and inserted them into the incense burner. Then, closing her eyes and folding her hands in a classic Buddhist gesture, she began chanting softly. Liu Dashao couldn’t make out the words, but they sounded like the endless muttering of an old woman gossiping on the street—long, boring, and smelly like old foot bindings. Of course, many years later, Liu Dashao would learn that what Granny Fan was chanting was no nonsense—it was the authentic Buddhist scripture, the Sutra of the Bodhisattva Ksitigarbha. While Granny Fan chanted, Liu Dashao hopped off his stool and curiously examined the statue. The monk had a round, smiling face, not fat, with long, drooping ears. He wore a monk’s robe, held a demon-subduing staff, and rode a strange beast with a single horn on its head. Was it Buddha? Or Maitreya? Liu Dashao blinked, recalling images he’d seen. Buddha had curly hair, and Maitreya was as fat as a pig. This monk didn’t fit either. Unfortunately, Liu Dashao only knew these two famous Buddhist figures, so after much thought, he gave up and returned to his seat, bored.
After chanting for nearly half an hour, Granny Fan finally stopped. Her temples were soaked with sweat, clearly exhausted. She took a few deep breaths to recover, then nimbly reached into her pocket and laid out the three paper cranes Liu Dashao had given her earlier. She adjusted their positions, aligning their beaks into a triangular formation. Then, with her right hand, she dipped her fingers into the dish of water and sprinkled a few drops onto the cranes. At that exact moment, something incredible happened. From beneath the lotus pedestal of the monk statue, a stream of black liquid began to flow. It twisted and turned on its own, eventually forming a perfect circular pattern around the three paper cranes. Village Chief Tian was speechless, fully convinced. Liu Dashao nearly dropped his jaw in shock and finally exclaimed, “F***ing perfect! That’s one hell of a circle!” And he was right. The circle was so perfectly round that even a professional draftsman using tools might not have achieved such precision. It was a natural, flawless curve, without the slightest flaw.
Granny Fan narrowed her eyes, quickly picked up a brush from the porcelain dish, dipped it in red cinnabar, and carefully drew another circle outside the black one. After finishing, she finally set the brush down with a sigh of relief.
“There, I’ve temporarily sealed one soul and one spirit of theirs. With the Bodhisattva Ksitigarbha watching over them, there shouldn’t be any problems. What happens next depends on their own fate,” Granny Fan said.
“Granny, is this monk the Bodhisattva Ksitigarbha?” Liu Dashao asked curiously, pointing at the statue.
“Yes,” Granny Fan nodded, bowing again to the statue, “He who does not go to hell, who will? The Bodhisattva Ksitigarbha presides over the underworld, so naturally, we must ask for his help.”
“But that doesn’t make sense?”
“Why not?” Granny Fan raised her eyebrows, turning to face him.
“I mean, earlier you used things that looked like Daoist tools. Now you’re bringing in monks and Bodhisattvas. Don’t you worry they might clash or fight each other?” Liu Dashao asked.
“Haha,” Granny Fan understood his meaning and gently patted his forehead, smiling, “You’re both right and wrong. If a monk worships the Three Pure Ones of Daoism or a Daoist bows to Buddha, that would be disrespecting their masters and ancestors, and they’d face consequences. But I’m just a humble practitioner of yin and yang, with no sect or school, learning only minor tricks. Heaven has mercy, and since I’ve saved many lives, it won’t punish me. Besides, whether it’s a black cat or a white cat, if it catches mice, it’s a good cat. Understand?”
“Is that really how it works?” Liu Dashao couldn’t help but laugh.
“Of course. Don’t be surprised.”
“Then, Granny, which is stronger—Daoist magic or Buddhist power?” Liu Dashao asked another question.
“Hmm…” Granny Fan’s face wrinkled as she thought, “I’ve never really considered that.”
“But I think they each have their strengths. Daoism is more aggressive, Buddhism more defensive. It’s like the difference between a spear and a shield—you can’t really say which is better,” she finally answered ambiguously.
“Right. Now that we’ve stabilized the children’s souls, the next step is to descend to the underworld. This is the crucial part. But I can’t do it alone—I need an assistant,” Granny Fan said.
Liu Dashao immediately said, “Granny, take me with you! I’m not afraid!”
Granny Fan gave him a disdainful look and replied, “Do you think the underworld is a place for the living to just wander into?” Liu Dashao quickly asked, “Then who can go down there?”
Granny Fan explained, “The underworld is a place of extreme yin. Only those with very strong yang energy can go. If someone with weak yang energy is taken down and gets caught by wandering spirits, they may never return. Also, they must have a balance of yin and yang to temporarily open their spiritual eyes so they can recognize souls in the underworld.”
“Granny, where should I find someone with strong yang energy?”
Granny Fan smiled and said, “Where else? Among your relatives and friends. If you bring someone who doesn’t know the three children, it’ll be a wasted trip. Also, you must find someone quickly—within three days.”
“Why three days?” Liu Dashao asked.
Granny Fan replied, “Do you know what body odor is?”
Liu Dashao shook his head, puzzled.
Granny Fan continued, “Long ago, there was a loving couple. Unfortunately, the husband died young. His wife refused to bury him and kept his body in their bed. Later, the underworld discovered the mistake and allowed the husband to choose: return to the living or become an official in the underworld. He chose to return. He came back on the third day after his death. But from then on, his wife noticed a foul smell on him, no matter how many times he bathed. Later, their child inherited this smell, and it has passed down through generations to this day—what people now call body odor. The underworld then made a rule: if a soul doesn’t return to the living within three days after death, it can never return.”
“Oh, I see! So there’s so much to going to the underworld. Then there’s no hope!” Liu Dashao sighed.
“Nothing is ever simple,” Granny Fan smiled, “Tonight won’t work. Tomorrow, keep an eye out among your friends for someone with a strong birth chart, especially one with the element of water. If you find one, great. If not, time waits for no one, and I’ll have to go alone in the final hour.” Her tone was firm and resolute, earning a silent nod from Village Chief Tian, who had been observing quietly.
“You all go to sleep. What are you doing sitting around here? I can handle things by myself,” Granny Fan said, glancing at the clock.
“Granny, I’m not tired. I’ll stay with you tonight. If anything happens, I can help,” Village Chief Tian insisted with a forced smile, though a loud yawn betrayed his exhaustion. The whole day had been filled with anxiety, and the back-and-forth between the temple and the graveyard had left him mentally and physically drained.
“Look at you! Don’t be stubborn. Go to sleep. Just leave me a bed in the next room,” Granny Fan said.
Since she insisted, Village Chief Tian gave in and picked up an oil lamp, “Sister-in-law, it’s dark tonight. Borrow me your lamp. I’ll return it tomorrow.”
“Take it,” Xiao Ma’s mother smiled.
“Okay,” Village Chief Tian nodded and said to Liu Dashao, “Nephew, let’s go. I’ll walk you home. I don’t want you walking alone.”
“Alright,” Liu Dashao reluctantly agreed, “I’ll come back tomorrow to check on Guo Qiang and the others.”
“Granny, I’ll go prepare your bedding. I’ll use my best set, the one from my wedding,” Xiao Ma’s mother said, rolling up her sleeves and heading to her room.
As Liu Dashao reached the door, he suddenly turned back in alarm, “Granny, something’s wrong! Look!”
“What’s wrong?” Granny Fan asked, following his gaze.
“Guo Qiang—he’s up! They’re all up!”
“What?” Village Chief Tian turned around, but the scene was completely different from what Liu Dashao described. Guo Qiang and the others were still lying there, motionless. He grew angry, “Nephew, what are you talking about?”
“I’m not lying! I really saw them get up! Oh no, there are two of them!” Liu Dashao cried out in surprise.
“Two?” Granny Fan’s eyes lit up as she grabbed Liu Dashao’s hand, “How could you see that?”
“I just saw it!”
“Do you have the spiritual eye?”
“The spiritual eye? I think I might,” Liu Dashao stammered.
“Perfect! No need to find anyone else. Tomorrow, you’ll come with me to the underworld!” Granny Fan said joyfully.
“What are you two talking about? They’re still lying there! How can they be up, then two, then back to one? Is this a time for jokes?” Village Chief Tian frowned.
“They’re right,” Granny Fan defended Liu Dashao, “These three paper cranes are connected to the three children. What Liu Dashao saw—two figures—was the result of the Bodhisattva Ksitigarbha’s lotus pedestal binding their souls. Their souls are now standing upright beside their bodies. He saw both the body and the soul, but you can’t see the soul.”
The next morning, as the rooster crowed and the sun rose, Granny Fan began preparing for the descent to the underworld. Before they left, she called Liu Dashao over and said, “Liu Dashao, in a moment, you’ll be going with me to another world. When we get there, don’t wander off. Hold my hand tightly and never let go! Keep your eyes open—if you see them, tell me immediately.”
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