“Take a closer look for me—how dark is that black mark, is it deep or shallow?”
Liu Dashao had examined it thoroughly just moments ago, so without needing to look again, he immediately replied, “It’s neither too deep nor too shallow. However, I noticed one feature—the darker the mark becomes toward the inside.”
“Hmm!” Upon hearing this, Auntie Fan pondered briefly, and the tension on her wrinkled face finally eased as she murmured to herself, “Fortunately, we caught it early. The evil influence has only just entered the body and hasn’t yet damaged the heart or lungs. If we had been even a little later, it would’ve become a serious problem.”
“Granny Fan, what exactly is this mark? When I was taking care of Guoqiang and the others before, I didn’t notice anything like this. Could it have appeared just now?” While asking, Liu Dashao grabbed a towel from the rack by the bed and wiped the sticky sweat from the unconscious children’s faces.
Faced with Liu Dashao’s rapid-fire questions, Auntie Fan, who lacked formal education, initially struggled to respond. She paused to recall what she had heard from elders in the past, then began explaining, “We folk Taoist practitioners usually call such marks ‘soul spots.'”
“Soul spots?” Liu Dashao had never heard this term before and was completely puzzled. Meanwhile, Village Chief Tian, pretending not to pay attention, was actually straining to listen with his ears wide open. He, too, was deeply confused about this strange phenomenon appearing on his own child.
“Yes,” Auntie Fan continued. “In the old days, there was an elderly Taoist in our village who had once served as a coroner in the Qing Dynasty’s prison system. Back then, prisoners died every day—some from starvation, some beaten to death, others by suicide. The conditions were terrible, dark, and poorly ventilated, causing lingering negative energy. That led to all sorts of strange occurrences—like hearing voices or crying from empty rooms at night, or seeing prison guards’ tools suddenly flying into the air and crashing down with a bang. During that time, the old Taoist learned some folk Taoist techniques from another senior official. After retiring, he returned to his hometown and lived there until his death.
“He once said that when a person dies, the heart stops and the blood sinks, settling into the muscles and flesh. Within ten minutes to several hours, large bruises called ‘natural signs’ appear on the skin. But besides this commonly known ‘natural path,’ there’s another called the ‘evil path’—these are the soul spots. While bruises are caused by blood settling, soul spots occur when the soul leaves the body prematurely due to some accident, allowing evil energy to enter the body’s vital points and linger without dispersing.”
“Generally speaking, we determine the severity of soul spots by their color. That’s why I asked you to check their forehead color earlier. The darker the color, the worse the condition, and the harder it will be to save them. If the color is light, it means only one or two souls have wandered off, perhaps confused by mountain spirits, and can be summoned back. If it’s dark, it means the soul has already left completely, and even the greatest immortal would be powerless to help. If the color is a mix of deep and light, it means they’ve already lost three souls and five spirits, leaving only one remaining soul. Though they seem alive—breathing and with a pulse—unless a Taoist priest personally retrieves those lost souls from the underworld within a limited time, they will not survive.”
“Why won’t they survive?” Liu Dashao asked.
“Hmph, haven’t you seen it yourself?” Auntie Fan replied bitterly. “Even if they survive, there’s no way a hospital could help them now. At best, they’d end up as vegetative cases.”
“Vegetative cases? What’s that?”
“Well…” Auntie Fan actually didn’t fully understand this modern term. She only knew that educated teachers in town used it to describe someone who couldn’t move or speak. Before she could explain further, Village Chief Tian jumped in proudly, “Hey, nephew, you studied medicine, didn’t you? A vegetative person is someone who’s turned into a plant—that’s why they call it a ‘vegetative case.'”
“A person turned into a plant?” Liu Dashao’s eyes widened.
“Exactly! I heard they turn their arms and legs into cabbage leaves,” Village Chief Tian added, trying to show off his knowledge in front of Auntie Fan by pointing at Liu Dashao’s head and scolding him, “You still don’t get it? How can you call yourself educated?”
“What? Cabbage leaves? Does that mean Qiangzi will turn into a cabbage too?” Liu Dashao gasped in horror. The fathers and mothers of Goudan and Xiao Mazi also covered their mouths in shock. If their sons turned into vegetables, how could they live on? Back then, people’s minds were simple, so even decades later, Liu Dashao would burst into laughter whenever he recalled this scene.
“Stop listening to his nonsense,” Auntie Fan scoffed. “I’ve lived this long and never seen a person turn into a cabbage.”
“What do you mean? How can a person not turn into a cabbage? Then explain—what is a vegetative person?” Village Chief Tian, realizing her tone was mocking him, became flustered.
Auntie Fan merely rolled her eyes, raised an eyebrow, and turned back to Liu Dashao. “Would you do me one more favor? Lean close to their chests and listen to each heartbeat. See if they’re heavy, slow, and if the pulse is less than half the normal rate.”
“Less than half the normal rate?” Liu Dashao’s thick eyebrows nearly met in amusement. “Granny Fan, are you joking? The heart is the core of life. Even a person on their deathbed, gravely ill, wouldn’t have a heart rate that low unless Guoqiang and the others were already…” He caught himself just in time and stopped.
“I understand your doubts, but I need you to confirm it,” Auntie Fan insisted.
“Granny Fan, you must be mistaken! At this critical moment, you’re still clinging to superstition and misleading people! Do you even realize what you’re doing? You’re endangering three young people who are destined to contribute to the glorious future of the Party! You’re repeatedly inciting children to promote feudal superstition and oppose socialism! Hmph! I can report you to the authorities for any one of these crimes alone!”
Village Chief Tian declared solemnly, his eyes ablaze with righteous indignation, like Li Dazhao denouncing the Kuomintang, or Liu Hulan facing execution.
“Village Chief Tian, you just don’t understand! This time, I’m not trying to harm you—I’m genuinely trying to save you! Now, we have no way back. For the sake of these three children’s lives, I must risk everything and make a gamble with King Yama himself!” Auntie Fan said firmly, ignoring the furious Village Chief Tian. She turned to Liu Dashao, gave him a meaningful look, and gestured with her hand. Liu Dashao hesitated briefly, then decided to focus on Auntie Fan’s request first. He walked to the cabinet, picked up his pocket watch, and began measuring the children’s heartbeats. Initially, he approached the task casually, but the moment his ear touched Tian Guoqiang’s chest, his skeptical expression turned into shock, disbelief, and confusion.
Thud… thud… thud… The heartbeat was incredibly heavy, like a sandbag dropped from a height. And the heart rate matched Auntie Fan’s description exactly. Liu Dashao’s own heart beat over seventy times a minute, while Tian Guoqiang’s barely reached twenty. Liu Dashao thought he must’ve miscounted, but after checking repeatedly, he finally accepted the shocking truth. At that moment, he truly wondered whether Auntie Fan had some kind of supernatural foresight.
“H… how is this possible?” His pocket watch slipped from his hand with a clatter, and he was speechless.
“Dashao! Dashao!” Auntie Fan called him several times before snapping him out of his trance.
“O… oh…” Liu Dashao finally regained his senses and nodded quickly. “It’s exactly as you said, Granny. The heartbeat is indeed very heavy. As for the rate, it’s less than thirty beats per minute.”
Liu Dashao’s confirmation was no surprise to Auntie Fan, but she still sighed deeply, filled with sorrow. “Ah, so they’ve already lost three souls and five spirits.”
“Granny, what do we do now?” Liu Dashao had already listened carefully to Auntie Fan’s explanation about soul spots. If they’d lost three souls and five spirits, weren’t they practically living corpses? He had grown up with Tian Guoqiang and the others, like brothers. Naturally, he didn’t want them to become vegetables or lifeless bodies. He immediately knelt down, grabbed Auntie Fan’s pants, and tearfully begged, “Please, no matter what, save Guoqiang and the others! We’ll serve you for the rest of our lives.”
Auntie Fan, after some meditation and hydration, had regained a bit of color in her previously pale face, and the blackness had begun to fade. Her limbs were still weak, but she could move slightly, even managing to drink some water with some effort. Sighing deeply, she said, “Only the one who tied the knot can untie it. The Five Manifestations Temple used to be a blessed site for our two villages, where prayers were often answered and the weather was favorable. But in recent years, worship has declined, and few visit the temple anymore. It’s been abandoned, struck by lightning, and left in ruins. Worse still, strange phenomena and evil energy have gathered there, turning it into a haunt for demons and monsters. The village elders warned us, but you still went there at night to play. Now, calamity has struck.”
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