Just as Xuanmin was about to step through, he noticed that Xue Xian was moving again, quietly climbing down his robe without a word. He clambered away from the high view he had whined for, wordlessly returning to the pouch at Xuanmin’s waist. Hanging his head in resignation for a moment, he slid along the seams and into the pouch. He even docilely pulled the pouch’s opening shut.
This sequence of events conveyed a very clear message: Go dig your grave by yourself. I’m not participating.
Xuanmin had nothing to say to that.
Behind this narrow door he had opened lay a square courtyard. Its north and south led to the front and middle halls respectively, and it was flanked by two corridors. Strangely, the loud noise Xuanmin had made while opening the door hadn’t alerted anyone inside.
Xue Xian sat in the hidden pouch, chin in hand. He waited for a moment, but he heard no approaching footsteps. Unable to contain his curiosity, he peeked out.
There were no ghostly figures in the courtyard. It was eerily quiet, except for the faint laughter drifting in from the front hall. It sounded like Scribe Liu. Xue Xian’s opinion of Scribe Liu was deep in the negatives, but he was a little interested in what was happening in the front hall.
While Xue Xian pondered, Xuanmin stepped through the door. He made his way along the corridor to the front hall’s back door.
That door didn’t offer a view into the hall because a large partition stood before them, blocking their line of sight. Entering the hall would require walking around it. Xue Xian watched as the brainless, fearless Xuanmin walked through the door and placed himself behind the partition. Here, the conversation in the front hall could be heard with clarity.
Xue Xian couldn’t tell how many people were in the hall, but only two were speaking. One of them was Scribe Liu, while the other seemed to be an elderly guest, judging by his hoarse voice and slow speech.
“Recently, the townsfolk have been talking about a rumor,” the old man said. “I don’t know if it’s true.”
“What rumor?” asked Scribe Liu.
“The incident of the fire at the Jiang family clinic. Have you heard anything about it, old friend?”
“Of course, of course.” For some reason, Scribe Liu’s words were oddly stiff. He repeated himself several times before raising his teacup and taking a sip. Then he clicked his tongue and sighed. “The county office has taken care of the bodies. They were charred beyond recognition. I wouldn’t have believed they were human bodies if the coroner hadn’t said so.”
“I still remember when I came to this town many years ago and had the fortune of meeting Doctor Jiang. Never did I imagine… Haaah!” The old man sighed. “But everyone in town says the Jiang family misdiagnosed your mother and prescribed the wrong medicine, which led to her passing.”
Scribe Liu picked up the teacup and drank another mouthful. The sound of his swallowing was so loud even Xue Xian could hear it. It seemed as if there were a tempest broiling inside Scribe Liu. After gulping down two more mouthfuls of tea, he slammed the cup back onto the table with sudden vigor. “Don’t bring this up again! The Jiang family have received their retribution. I won’t hold that against them anymore! I only feel sorry for my poor mother. She worked so hard most of her life and had just managed to enjoy a few years of happiness, yet…”
Seeing Scribe Liu so agitated, the old man quickly consoled him. “All right, let’s not talk about it. Quack doctors bring great harm!”
Xue Xian frowned at those words. He recalled the day he entered the Jiang family’s dilapidated residence.
The vast courtyard had been littered with broken tiles, choked by overgrown weeds, and shrouded in an eerie silence. It’d been daytime, with no lack of sun. Yet an oppressive sorrow hung in the air, never dissipating. Carried into the courtyard by the wind, he happened to come face-to-face with Jiang Shining, who was sitting in a corner. Only then did Xue Xian realize that the sorrow was emanating from the rogue ghost. Unfortunately, Jiang Shining was in a fog. He could recall the events of his life, but nothing after his death.
“Why are you bunkered here?” Xue Xian had asked. “You should reincarnate if you’re dead. If you keep wasting time, you’ll miss your chance and never be able to.”
Jiang Shining looked bewildered for a moment, then said, “Oh, I’m waiting for my parents. We’ll go together. They’re getting on in years, so I need to take care of them.”
Xue Xian was sure that this ghost must have fried his brain reading too many books, since everything he said was nonsense.
“Okay, so where are they?” Xue Xian asked, grimacing.
Jiang Shining sighed. “They probably went the wrong way, but I don’t have a proper body, so I can’t leave this courtyard to look for them.”
Xue Xian stared at him for a while before saying, “Very well. I’ll agree to lend you a hand. But on one condition.”
“Say it.” Jiang Shining was frank.
“Let me stay here for a few days.”
After Xue Xian provided Jiang Shining with a paper body, he started searching for his parents in town every night. After three days, he’d scoured the entire town twice over, but found nothing.
At that time, Xue Xian thought that Jiang Shining’s parents had already left for the afterlife. However, after he listened to Scribe Liu’s words, a new idea began to take shape in Xue Xian’s mind. Right as he went to climb back onto Xuanmin’s shoulder to tell him his thoughts, the two people in the hall spoke again.
“By the way,” he heard Scribe Liu say, “I nearly forgot. I mentioned that I received a rare item and wanted to show it to you, didn’t I? Let’s go to the back.”
Xue Xian poked Xuanmin. But with the feebleness of his paper body, it felt more like a tickle than a poke. Xuanmin frowned slightly at the evil spirit tickling his side.
Before Xuanmin could leave through the door, he abruptly noticed someone standing next to him.
This newcomer’s eyes were unusually dark, devoid of any light, lending him a haunted look. Two dark shadows curved under his eyes, and his ashen complexion had a greenish tinge. His appearance out of the blue was more than a little unsettling. An ordinary person who turned around to see this ghostly sight would have jumped right into the rafters in fear.
However, Xuanmin and Xue Xian were no ordinary people. One was brazen and audacious, while the other was unflappable and implacable, having gone through his entire life without knowing fear. Both the walking glacier monk and the evil spirit hiding by his waist turned their expressionless faces to look at the interloper.
His face grew even greener as he leaned back and held his chest. “Why did you suddenly turn around? You scared me to death.”
Both Xuanmin and Xue Xian blinked at him, and Xuanmin lifted his hand. This bookworm standing in front of them—none other than Jiang Shining—really had fried his brain with reading.
Seeing him, Xue Xian grew a little worried. If Jiang Shining had heard what Scribe Liu said, he might just start brawling with him in the front hall. Could this reed even take on those two geezers? Yet Jiang Shining’s tone seemed to indicate he was ignorant of the conversation about his parents.
Xue Xian was somewhat relieved; at least he didn’t have to worry about Jiang Shining dashing out to dig his own grave (again). He leaned out of the pouch and waved disdainfully, trying to shoo the ghost away. “Turn around. Let’s get going.”
“Why the rush?” Jiang Shining asked.
Despite his occasional retort to Xue Xian, Jiang Shining was soft-natured at heart. It was this softness that carried him through days of tirelessly playing Xue Xian’s gofer, enduring ridicule while keeping him quiet with food. Even as Jiang Shining questioned Xue Xian, the former’s body was already following the latter’s instructions. He turned around and stepped through the door despite his baffled expression.
At this turn of events, Xuanmin dropped his hand, only to hear Xue Xian say, “What did you raise your hand for, you bald donkey? Did you grow sick of this bookworm’s stupidity? Were you going to beat him up?”
You’re the one who deserves a beating, Xuanmin thought.
Jiang Shining was flabbergasted. “Wait, what did I do? Why hit me?”
“Just keep walking. Enough nonsense from you,” Xue Xian said.
To think such a troublemaker had the nerve to tell others to shut up.
However, Xue Xian wasn’t entirely incorrect about Xuanmin’s intentions. A ghost who took human form by possessing an object like paper was sustained by a tiny wisp of yin energy. There was a vital acupoint about four inches down on the back of the head; if someone struck this point, the yin energy sustaining the ghost would disperse, and they’d return to their original form. Worried that Jiang Shining might cause a mess with his presence, Xuanmin had been on the verge of forcing him back into paper form for easier transport. After all, having a single insolent paraplegic on his hands was enough. Wouldn’t a second hanger-on who had full use of his limbs just result in chaos?
But Jiang Shining seemed surprisingly cooperative. Easing off for now, Xuanmin decided to tolerate the ghost and followed him out the door.
Once they were through, Xuanmin grabbed the back of Jiang Shining’s collar, pivoted on his toes, and pulled him to hide behind the narrow wall separating the corridor from the side of the building. As long as he desired it, Xuanmin could keep his steps whisper-silent. His acolyte’s robes were thin and light, and their hems brushed over a withered twig and grazed the wall behind it, until the fabric fell back in place around his ankles. Despite everything, his robes remained spotless and free of mud, and the twig didn’t so much as twitch.