Chapter Fifty-Four: Westward Journey at Midnight, A Lone Firefly Shines

By the starlight, Liang Yu carefully examined the bronze lamp, noticing that most of the oil inside had spilled, leaving only a thin floating root. The pungent, fishy lamp oil flowed at Liang Yu’s feet, and the stench gradually spread across the ground. Anxiously, Liang Yu slapped his thighs repeatedly, muttering, “What am I to do? This bit of lamp oil won’t last even the time it takes for a stick of incense to burn!” Seeing that Zhong Ming and the others had already ventured deep into the wild hills, and that in less than half an hour the bronze lamp would need to be lit, Liang Yu tapped his forehead in search of a solution.

After a moment, Liang Yu let out a sudden “Ah!” as inspiration struck him—a sly idea forming in his belly. He glanced around to ensure no one was nearby, then hurried off toward his own house. After all, lamp oil is lamp oil, and he had some at home; why not fetch it from there? When Liang Yu returned to Muddy Village, most of the lights were already extinguished. Only Old Sun’s courtyard glowed faintly, likely because he had gathered everyone together for courage. No one noticed Liang Yu sneaking into his own yard and slipping out again.

When he returned to the lamp’s location, Liang Yu, belly bulging, was quietly chuckling to himself, smugly thinking, “Now my lamp oil is more than anyone’s—it’ll burn until morning without going out.” The bronze lamp was full of yellow oil, so much so that the original red oil’s color had vanished, and the stench had faded to near nothing. Liang Yu, clever in his own eyes, had unwittingly caused a disaster. No one in Muddy Village knew; the only witness was the splendid rooster standing on the small hill.

General Te’s two chicken eyes glared at Liang Yu, and it spat out a small green worm. The colorful rooster seemed to say, “Liang Yu, you fool!”

...

Thin clouds drifted, stars dotted the sky, and a crescent moon hung high. Tonight the moonlight was gentle, just bright enough for one to make out the landscape. Zhong Ming and his companions had reached the mountain’s foot, facing the barren mound. The wild mound was as desolate as ever, with occasional chilling winds carrying eerie noises, brushing Zhong Ming and making him shiver.

Something was strange—tonight the wild mound was unnervingly quiet. Usually, the vegetation thrived, with insects humming, and fireflies flickering everywhere. It was April, the time when spring insects revived, but tonight there was not a single insect’s song, nor a firefly in sight.

Zhong Ming felt his heart racing and instinctively drew the Blade of Yama’s Final Song, gripping it tightly for comfort.

The leading old Daoist, Zhang Daozhen, suddenly stopped. His eyes had long since lost sight, so the scene around him made no difference. Zhang Daozhen merely turned and asked, “Layman Zhong, have we entered the wild mound’s domain?”

“Yes!” Zhong Ming replied.

“Disciple, light the lamp and raise the Purification Talismans.”

Following the old Daoist’s instructions, the young Daoist Zhang Nianchen removed the rattan box from his back, rummaged a bit, and produced a glass lamp wrapped in brocade. Chanting under his breath, his hand shaped into a sword gesture. When he finished the incantation, he barked, “Swift!”

Blue flames sprang from his fingers and drifted into the glass lamp, which illuminated brilliantly, reflecting the blue fire into multicolored beams that slowly rose. The five-colored beams danced across their bodies, and Zhong Ming was struck by a strange feeling. The light of this glass lamp resembled the disco balls from his previous life; if only some “Su Wei! Su Wei!” music played now, wouldn’t they be bobbing their heads and dancing amid the graves?

...

Dancing atop the graves?

Zhong Ming quickly banished the odd thought, but the notion left him less fearful. Meanwhile, Zhang Nianchen took out yellow talismans from the box, each inscribed with vermillion spells as illegible as a child’s scrawl, reminiscent of the fake talismans of charlatans Zhong Ming had seen in his previous life. But these two heirs of the Dan Ding Sect of Dragon Gate Mountain were no frauds; they possessed genuine skill.

Holding a stack of talismans, Zhang Nianchen recited, “By the decree of the Supreme One, pardon the lonely souls, ghosts, and demons, let all four forms receive grace!” At his words, the talismans flew into the air, floating as if alive and glowing softly.

Witnessing such wonder, Zhong Ming was thoroughly convinced. He had only half trusted the old Daoist before; now he believed fully that the man could suppress the tide of corpses.

“Master, the divine glass lamp is lit, and the Purification Talismans are raised.”

“Good. Disciple, with the talismans in place, this mound is vast. We must arrange at least eighty-one talismans to form the Great Passage Array.”

From Zhang Daozhen’s tone, this ritual was no simple affair.

Zhang Nianchen hesitated, whispering, “Master, I am afraid—I lack the mental strength to raise eighty-one talismans.”

“No matter, consider it practice. I know my limits.”

The old Daoist’s robes billowed in the night wind, his wild beard and wide robes fluttering, giving him a touch of sage-like grandeur.

Then Zhang Daozhen beckoned to Zhong Ming: “Layman Zhong, you lead the way—go to places where many bodies are buried. This mound is too vast for my disciple and me to cover all. We must focus on the most dangerous spots.”

“Alright, Master Zhang, I’ll lead.”

Zhong Ming held his blade before him, giving himself a sense of security. Leading the two Daoists, he made for the mound, always choosing spots where corpses had been thrown in numbers.

The glass lamp hovered above them like a guiding beacon, illuminating their surroundings. Every so often, Zhang Nianchen released another talisman, which drifted aloft.

When Zhong Ming reached the summit, the night wind howled even stronger. He turned to look; dozens of talismans now floated along the path, twinkling like fireflies in the dark.

Standing atop the mound, with bones beneath his feet, he found himself at the boundary line. Beyond lay low shrubs—few ventured there, except for those like Zhong Ming who buried their kin with care. Most were not so thoughtful.

During years of war, most deaths were buried on the slope they had just passed. If they descended the other side, the talismans would nearly encircle half the mound.

At first, the war dead were left untended, corpses everywhere. Only after the founding of New Tang was an order issued: bury the dead, lest plague spread. A huge pit was dug at the front of the mound, hollowing much of the hill. Tens of thousands of bodies were thrown in and covered. That mass grave was this mound; since then, it became the burial ground, and people continued to bury their dead here.

Some refugees, dying without friends or family, were simply tossed onto the mound. The bones beneath Zhong Ming’s feet were such abandoned remains.

After a moment at the summit, Zhang Daozhen asked, “Layman Zhong, why have you stopped?”

“Oh, nothing. We’re at the top now. I believe the other side holds few bodies. This side is the mass grave. Perhaps if we descend here, the young Daoist’s talismans can encircle the grave.”

...

Zhang Daozhen’s empty sockets gazed toward the other side, and he calculated silently for a while before saying, “Very well, we’ll do as you suggest.” The three prepared to descend, and Zhang Daozhen took the talismans from Zhang Nianchen, advising, “Keep some true qi to protect yourself; leave the rest to me.”

Zhang Nianchen breathed a sigh of relief.

In the old Daoist’s hands, the talismans became livelier, their glow stronger.

As the trio began to descend, a song suddenly echoed behind them: “Wild mound, the fear arises, corpses restless, no death’s form, warn Zhong Ming, don’t be fooled!”

Zhang Nianchen jumped in fright, shouting, “Master, a ghost!”

“What fiend dares to make mischief here!” The old Daoist’s hollow eyes turned toward the source of the rhyme, and his jade gourd at his waist shone brightly. Zhang Daozhen uncorked it, and two rays of light emerged, flying beside them.

This time, the lights moved slowly enough for Zhong Ming to glimpse their contents: two strange pills, one golden red, glowing with red and gold, the other dark green, its eerie black-green light somewhat sinister.

But Zhong Ming remained calm; he knew who had come. The singer was the village lunatic. He hastily explained to Zhang Daozhen, “Master Zhang, don’t attack; he’s a familiar face.”

With that, Zhong Ming stepped out of the lamp’s illumination and called loudly, “Elder, I know you’re here. Last time you returned my stone lock mandarin ducks, I have not forgotten your kindness. My fear led me to harm you then; please do not hold it against me!”

After his shout, silence fell. Zhong Ming frowned slightly—it seemed the old mountain demon did not wish to meet him.

He sighed and continued, “Elder, we mean no intrusion tonight. We’re here to suppress the rising corpses lest chaos afflict the villagers. Please grant us your favor!”

The lunatic had sung to warn Zhong Ming away; the mountain demon knew the corpses would rise and meant well.

After Zhong Ming finished, rustling sounded from the darkness. From waist-high weeds appeared the ragged, wild-haired lunatic. His expression was twisted, mouth crooked, eyes askew—the most bizarre being his pupils, shrunken to the size of peas, one pointing up, one down, spinning unpredictably, truly terrifying.

Drooling and unclear in speech, he crouched like a beast, hands pushing outward, shouting, “Go! Zhong Ming, go! Not on the wild mound! Zhong Ming, not on the wild mound! Danger!”

Zhong Ming thought the lunatic was the mountain demon incarnate and bowed deeply, “Thank you, elder, for forgiving past offense and repaying evil with virtue.”

But Zhang Daozhen stepped forward and pulled Zhong Ming back, whispering, “Your bow is wasted. He is a fool, not the true spirit.”

Zhong Ming frowned, “Please, master, explain.”

Zhang Daozhen glanced at the lunatic and asked, “Have you heard the term ‘ghost accomplice’?”

Zhong Ming nodded, so Zhang Daozhen continued, “This creature before you is a ‘chang man,’ part human, part demon. He was captured by the mountain spirit, infused with demonic energy, bewitched, and made a tool for the spirit’s deeds. Such creatures usually have little intelligence; they simply obey whatever the spirit commands.”

Understanding dawned on Zhong Ming.

Suddenly, the chang man screeched, leaping up and urgently shouting, “Zhong Ming, go! Zhong Ming, go! Danger! Danger! It’s coming!”