“You?” Old Lady Fan was astonished, then waved her hands repeatedly. “No, no, you can’t do it!”
Village Chief Tian didn’t realize she was using reverse psychology and thought she genuinely looked down on him. Immediately, his eyes flared: “Why wouldn’t I be able to do it?”
Old Lady Fan put on a face of reluctance: “You’re the village chief, unlike Liu Dashao’s father, who is rough but careful and handles things considerately. Besides, the Lingguan Temple is filled with ominous energy and is extremely dangerous. If anything were to happen to you, how could I face your family?”
“What did you say? You’re saying I’m not as good as Liu Dashao’s father? What am I worse than him, huh?” Village Chief Tian’s eyes bulged like Zhang Fei from the Romance of the Three Kingdoms: “In terms of education, I’m a proper college graduate who has seen the world, while he’s just an illiterate peasant. As for administrative ability, I’ve governed the village well for three years, bringing order. Could he do that? If you gave him a farming team, he’d probably scatter everyone!”
With hands on his waist, the village chief ranted furiously. Who was Liu Dashao’s father? He was Liu Dashao’s own father! Insulting his father in front of him like that—if it were anyone else, even Buddha himself, he’d be furious. Finally, Liu Dashao couldn’t take it anymore and coughed several times, barely suppressing his anger, forcing Village Chief Tian to stop his grandiose rant.
“Alright, I won’t say more. It’s not good to talk too much in front of the kid. Fan Xidou, I’ve made myself clear—I’m going with you whether you like it or not. I’m going to check out that temple with you and see if it’s your trickery. If I catch you red-handed, hmm, you won’t have a good time!”
“Oh well, I can’t argue with you. Do as you please, but remember to be careful on the way. Don’t just run when something happens—stay calm.” Seeing her goal achieved, Old Lady Fan happily played along.
“Don’t pretend to care. I’m a Party member, protected by the Five-star, capable of defeating all demons and monsters!” The village chief said dismissively, “Just wait! When the intellectuals go to the countryside, you’ll be the one crying!” After this threat, he went home to prepare some necessary joss paper, leaving Liu Dashao and Old Lady Fan in awkward silence.
“Come here, child,” Old Lady Fan called after a moment of silence, pulling Liu Dashao closer, holding his hand and spreading his fingers, seemingly with some intention.
“Grandma, what are you doing?” Liu Dashao instinctively tried to pull back.
“Don’t move. Spread your fingers, relax. There, just like that. Grandma is giving you a protective charm now, in case something happens later.” After speaking, Old Lady Fan’s rough hand brushed over Liu Dashao’s palm lines, her sharp eyes scrutinizing them carefully before she began her meticulous work.
“Okay!” Liu Dashao didn’t resist this time. He watched Old Lady Fan take the brush dipped in cinnabar, still slightly wet, moisten it with saliva from her tongue, bite her middle finger, squeeze out a few drops of blood onto the center of his palm, and then start drawing rapidly. Within a minute, a series of cursive characters emerged on his palm. Strangely, as soon as she finished, the characters seemed to come alive, exuding a graceful, ethereal aura.
“This is called the Palm Thunder. It’s supposedly from the Maoshan sect, though I’m not entirely sure. I learned it from an old Taoist priest,” Old Lady Fan put down the brush and sighed heavily. The effort had clearly drained her.
“Palm Thunder sounds pretty powerful. I wonder if drawing it will let me strike like in those picture books—blowing air with my palm and crushing rocks into powder,” Liu Dashao imagined.
“Haha, you!” Old Lady Fan chuckled, poking Liu Dashao’s forehead: “This isn’t martial arts—it’s a convenient talisman effective only against ghosts and monsters. The advantage is that as long as it’s drawn correctly and used properly, even someone without knowledge of yin-yang techniques can wield it skillfully. However, the downside is that its power relies on the blood and cinnabar used, so it only works two or three times before becoming ineffective.”
“So how do I use it? Just slap the monster with my palm?”
“No, no!” Old Lady Fan quickly corrected him: “You must recite an incantation before using it to activate its power. The incantation is ‘Lin, Bing, Dou, Zhe, Jie, Zhen, Lie, Qian, Xing.'”
“Come, repeat it after me!”
“Lin, Bing, Dou, Zhe, Jie… Jie what?” Liu Dashao scratched his head.
“Fool, it’s ‘Jie Zhen Lie Qian Xing!'” Old Lady Fan rolled her eyes.
“Oh right, right, Zhen Lie Qian Xing, Zhen Lie Qian Xing.” After several reminders from Old Lady Fan, Liu Dashao finally memorized the awkward phrase.
Allow me to interject here with a side note. Many people, having watched the Hong Kong zombie series “My Date with a Vampire,” believe that Ma Xiaoling’s incantation “Lin, Bing, Dou, Zhe, Jie, Zhen, Lie, Zai, Qian” is correct. However, few realize that the show was based on Tibetan Tantric Buddhism. The Japanese Tantric sect had previously plagiarized the Daoist “Nine-Syllable Mantra” from the “Baopuzi,” but mistranslated the final two words “Qian Xing” as “Zai Qian.” Ironically, they even added specific hand gestures for each word. Remember, the principle of exorcising demons with incantations lies in the unique energy field created by vocalizing the words, which can repel evil spirits. But if the words are incorrect, the energy flow becomes flawed, rendering the incantation useless.
Meanwhile, Village Chief Tian had already packed his things and stood outside, knocking on the wooden door to signal Liu Dashao it was time to go. Looking at the basket in his hand, he had brought quite a lot of joss paper—enough for several families’ tomb-sweeping during Qingming Festival.
“Grandma, I’m off now!”
“Go ahead! Take advantage of the daylight and come back early!” Old Lady Fan smiled, then rubbed her aching legs and muttered to herself: “Time waits for no one. I should prepare too.” She unsteadily grabbed a bamboo cane and went home to get ready.
As the saying goes, one flower blooms in two places. Meanwhile, Village Chief Tian led Liu Dashao toward the mountain valley where Lingguan Temple stood, the sun setting behind them. The mountain path was steep, but the ancestors had paved rows of stone steps, making the climb manageable despite the narrowness.
Lingguan Temple remained as usual, its eaves and railings entangled in dense spiderwebs. The two guardian statues at the entrance were missing limbs, looking extremely dilapidated. The inscriptions on the pillars were blurred and illegible, and the wooden plaque, battered by years of wind and rain, had turned blackish-brown, with several finger-width cracks running along the grain. This made the blood-red characters of “Wuxian Lingguan Temple” seem even more sinister and terrifying. Entering the temple, white banners flapped wildly in the wind, threatening to cover one’s head. Inside the dim hall, only a small oil lamp burned faintly before the five Lingguan statues, casting flickering shadows. On the old locust tree in front of the hall, several crows cawed mournfully, as if their wives had run off with other male crows.
With a thud, Village Chief Tian dropped the basket of joss paper on the ground, blowing warm air into his palms to get his blood flowing again before grumbling: “What weather! It warmed up yesterday, but today it’s back to normal. It’s freezing up here—cold enough to freeze your piss.”
“Uncle Tian, you’re right,” Liu Dashao reluctantly pulled his hands from his pockets, squatting to organize the joss paper. Organizing it was simple—anyone who’d attended a tomb-sweeping ceremony knew how. Hold a handful of paper in your right hand and press it onto your left palm, then twist clockwise to create a neat spiral. This made it easier to burn completely, avoiding the embarrassment of half-burning and half-extinguishing.
Speaking of burning joss paper, there’s a small story from unofficial history worth mentioning.
Legend has it that after Cai Lun improved papermaking during the Eastern Han Dynasty, his business boomed, bringing him great wealth. His brother Cai Mo and sister-in-law Huiniang envied him greatly. Huiniang urged Cai Mo to learn from Cai Lun, but Cai Mo lacked perseverance and rushed to open his own papermaking shop before mastering the craft. Unfortunately, the paper he produced was of poor quality and found no buyers, leaving the couple worried over their unsold stock.
Finally, Huiniang devised a clever plan and whispered instructions into Cai Mo’s ear. That night, neighbors heard loud crying from Cai Mo’s house. When they rushed over, they learned that Huiniang had died suddenly the previous night. The next morning, Cai Mo wept bitterly in front of Huiniang’s coffin, burning joss paper as he cried.
Suddenly, a noise came from inside the coffin. Moments later, Huiniang’s voice called out: “Open the lid! Hurry, I’m back!” Everyone stood stunned before finally gathering the courage to lift the coffin lid. Huiniang jumped out, explaining that after her death, she had gone to the underworld and was forced to grind grain by Yama, the King of Hell. However, the joss paper Cai Mo burned for her was so valuable that the little demons competed to grind for her. After she gave the money to Yama, he released her back to the living.
Cai Mo pretended to ask: “I didn’t send you any money!” Huiniang pointed at the burning pile: “That’s the money! In the underworld, paper is used as currency.”
Hearing this, Cai Mo immediately grabbed two bundles of paper to burn, claiming he wanted to ease his parents’ suffering in the afterlife. Seeing this, the neighbors realized the joss paper’s power and rushed to buy Cai Mo’s paper. The news spread rapidly, and within days, Cai Mo’s stock was completely sold out. Since Huiniang returned on the fifteenth day of the seventh lunar month, people have burned incense and joss paper for their ancestors on this day ever since.
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