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墨書 Inktalez
The beginning of cultivation was quite boring. At that time, I was still young, spending the summer of my second year on the mountain. Living and eating with my master was manageable, but could you really get used to three meals a day consisting solely of vegetables or tofu, or perhaps long and short beans, pumpkin, cucumber, and winter melon? There was not a hint of meat in our diet.
I felt lost at times and considered giving up. Friends who study this path would understand; perhaps it was different from the method my master taught me, but it was somewhat similar. Those Daoist incantations were harder to comprehend than classical Chinese. Many characters were unfamiliar to me. During one summer vacation, I even wore out a Xinhua Dictionary while trying to memorize hundreds of symbols and their corresponding incantations, all while needing to understand their uses. And none of it was in plain language.
For a young person like me, it was an excruciating experience. There were no classmates on the mountain, no peers my age, and no Xiao Fang. Occasionally, a few tourists would come up to watch the sunrise and tease the kind-hearted and shy me; that was my only chance to interact with strangers.
Most of the time was spent memorizing; when I got tired of that, I copied texts. When copying became exhausting, I practiced drawing symbols. When I grew weary of that, I would meditate in the main hall and listen to the old man chant scriptures. At that age, filled with youthful curiosity and mischief, how many could persist in such a routine? The key point was that my master never took me along when he had work to do. At that time, I had never seen a Spirit God and constantly doubted whether they truly existed.
One week into that summer vacation, my master went out for work for the third time. I asked him why he didn’t take me along and whether what I learned was truly useful. He replied, "To cultivate Dao is to first cultivate the heart. If your heart is not calm and filled with doubt, then what you learn will be of no use."
I understood only partially at the time and never asked him again. Whenever my state of mind began to waver, I would go to the main hall to meditate, imitating the old man's chanting style. This indeed helped calm my heart.
From the summer vacation after eighth grade until after the junior high school entrance exam, there were only two days each month when I returned home to play with friends; all other weekends were spent on the mountain memorizing and copying texts… Until just a few days before the end of summer vacation in ninth grade when I was about to head to high school in the county town, my master told me he would take me out for work the next afternoon.
I don’t know why, but when I heard those words, my eyes instantly welled up with tears that fell like pearls from a broken string. It wasn’t out of grievance or excitement; it wasn’t fear or sorrow either. It was gratitude—gratitude for my master’s acknowledgment and for my own perseverance. I didn’t know if this was a sign of weakness.
My master patted my head and said, "Don’t look at anything today; we’re going down the mountain to find your grandfather for a nice meal." I wiped away my tears and smiled again as I eagerly pulled my master down the mountain.
When it came time for my first outing with my master for work, I felt both excited and anxious—more so curious. After learning so much and memorizing so many things, it was finally time to see how they were applied.
My master instructed me: "On your first outing with me, just watch; don’t take any initiative to do anything. What you’ve learned is merely superficial; don’t act recklessly. Just do what I say."
I nodded vigorously without daring to speak for fear that my master might change his mind about taking me along. After all, I had only seen Spirit Gods in books, so I was extremely eager.
The victim's surname was Ning; he was from Suhe Township and in his fifties—a simple farmer known for his honesty. With just over half an acre of land and his diligent hands, he managed to raise two university-educated sons from the nineties. Both sons were very filial; after graduating and earning money, they wanted to bring their parents to live in the city. However, their long-established habits made it difficult for them to adapt to city life. Eventually, after some discussion between the brothers, they decided to build their parents a better house in their hometown.
People in the village cared about appearances; regardless of how many people there were or how large they could build it, they wanted as many rooms as possible—more rooms seemed more impressive. With some money saved up, the brothers wanted to build a bigger house so that during festivals everyone could come back with their families and have a place to stay. However, they couldn’t find a suitable homestead since their own land was too small. Eventually, they found a villager willing to sell a homestead that met their size requirements.
It turned out that two homesteads had been combined into one; however, there was a small mound in between them—perhaps due to its age even its marker had fallen over. If one didn’t look closely enough, they wouldn’t even realize it was a mound containing a buried life.
Strangely enough, when digging the foundation corners for construction, they coincidentally avoided that mound without anyone realizing it contained a body; they simply leveled off the ground before adding more foundation on top. During construction itself there were no incidents until after the new house was completed and occupied by the elderly couple on its first night—strange noises began occurring around them.
Uncle Ning's account, though a bit hazy due to the passage of time, goes something like this—there's no exaggeration involved.
It all began when the light fixture in the Main Hall of his home inexplicably broke. They replaced it, but within seconds, it failed again. They went through three bulbs in total, each one failing without exception. Uncle Ning didn’t think much of it at first, assuming it might be a voltage issue.
That night, they decided not to replace the bulb again and went to bed. In the rural Village, it's common for people to use mosquito nets, and Uncle Ning's household was no exception. After he and his wife got into bed and turned off the light, they immediately heard a rustling sound, reminiscent of someone gasping for air after eating too many spicy peppers.
At first, Uncle Ning dismissed it as the wind rustling something outside. However, as the sound grew clearer, it became evident that it wasn’t just the wind.
He then thought it might be a mouse gnawing on something. Determined to find out what was making the noise, he lifted the mosquito net. The moonlight was bright that night, so he didn’t bother turning on the light. As he reached for the edge of the net, he suddenly jumped back in shock; the moonlight illuminated a hunched figure about two meters away in the corner of the room. It had long hair and was wearing a long robe.
The figure tilted its head towards the moonlight, slowly shaking its head as if searching for something. Uncle Ning initially thought he was imagining things and abruptly threw back the mosquito net. The shadow seemed to notice him and quickly turned its head to stare at him. Its pale face appeared almost blue under the moonlight as it fixed a resentful gaze on Uncle Ning. He was terrified but had lived in the rural Village for decades and had heard stories about such things; he didn’t scream.
He quickly pulled the mosquito net back down and mustered his courage to peek through it again, but the shadow had vanished. Uncle Ning convinced himself that he was just exhausted and had imagined it. He sighed in relief and lay back down to sleep on his side, facing away from his wife.
He wasn’t sure how long he slept—perhaps around ten minutes—when he felt a chilling breeze blowing in from outside the mosquito net, directly hitting his face. He opened his eyes and was truly horrified.
That pale face was right beside his bed, clearly visible even through the net... not only was it right there in front of him, but it was also breathing heavily.
At this point, Uncle Ning could no longer remain calm; he woke his wife and bolted out of bed. Back at his old house, he lay wide awake all night, unable to sleep. The next day, Uncle Ning fell ill—feeling weak with a high fever—and while he rambled incoherently in his sleep, he described everything clearly when awake; it was evident that he had been deeply frightened.
On the third day, his eldest son rushed home. Initially skeptical about Uncle Ning's story, he changed his mind after trying to replace bulbs in the Main Hall himself; several bulbs failed again despite there being no voltage issues.
Through one of his uncles, they contacted My Master—this was also my first job with him. I remember vividly when Grandpa Ning spoke with my Master...
Later on, my Master asked some additional questions and even called over workers who had previously dug at Homestead to inquire further at Uncle Ning's doorstep.
I couldn’t recall exactly what questions were asked because I noticed a girl passing by who looked remarkably like Xiao Fang. I rushed over to greet her with a playful slap on her shoulder; however, she wasn’t her at all. Not only did she not respond positively to my approach, but she also scolded me harshly.
Had I really been up in the mountains so long that I found even a sow attractive upon descending?
When I returned to my Master’s side, he had finished asking questions and approached Uncle Ning’s bedside. Seeing me wandering off instead of staying close by made him scold me again. At that moment, I wasn’t discouraged by his reprimand; my resilient spirit remained intact as I grinned and asked: “Master, how do we resolve this? Shall we get started?”
The master said, "We can't start now."
Uncle Ning asked, "Can we handle it?"
The master replied, "Yes, I'll move in tonight."
I was puzzled and asked, "Why not just call the Call of Souls?"
The master explained, "If you don't know any information, how can I understand who you're calling? Let's not talk about it anymore." Then he turned to me and said, "Weren't you the one eager to meet the Spirit God? Come stay with me tonight, and I'll let you see the real deal."
To be honest, I was quite scared at that moment, but wanting to appear brave, I thought for a moment and agreed. It was mainly due to my trust in the master; if I had refused after he mentioned it, I might have faced his wrath.
Nervously finishing dinner, I carried the master's backpack and headed toward the new house built over the old mound. As I approached the newly constructed building, it looked quite impressive with three or four sections. In our area, a section is a unit of measurement for a homestead; four sections meant the width of three rooms. There were rooms in both the front and back. Each floor had five rooms besides the stairwell, totaling fifteen rooms. The outer walls were covered with red tiles, making it stand out in that rural era.
Upon entering the Main Hall, there was a reserved altar that hadn't yet been consecrated with ancestral tablets. In front of the altar stood a red-painted Eight Immortals Table, and to the right was an open doorway leading to the staircase. On both sides of the Main Hall were rooms; that night Uncle Ning and his group slept in the bedroom on the right side of the Main Hall.
Since the main door couldn't be opened at that time, the master and I took a flashlight and walked around the Main Hall. The master asked me how I felt.
I hadn't expected him to ask me this suddenly and didn't know how to respond. After thinking for a moment, I said, "I don't feel anything."
The master replied, "Of course you can't feel anything if you're not here." I shot him a glance; why did he even ask? But I kept that thought to myself since I was still young.
My respect for him was traditional respect; there was a significant difference in how it manifested compared to my more carefree respect now. However, respect is respect regardless of how it's expressed; he would always be my mentor.
After answering, the master prepared to head toward the back staircase and turned back to say, "Let's go upstairs and take a look. Follow me and don't look back. If someone taps you on the shoulder, don't turn around." In my mind, I thought it was just the two of us; how could anyone tap me when you were in front? But then it dawned on me.
When he said "he," he meant "it."
I felt quite nervous inside. The master advised me to recite a Courage Spell if I was scared. I didn't recite it; perhaps it was personal heroism at play. But as it turned out, one truth became evident: being handsome doesn't ward off ghosts.
At the half-floor landing, sure enough, I felt a tap on my shoulder. The master seemed to know my temperament well enough not to recite spells and almost as if he anticipated that I would get tapped. After feeling that tap on my back, he quickly turned around and threw some cinnabar mixed with incense ash into the air. Not only did it hit that Spirit God but also splattered that youthful and vibrant young man standing next to him with cinnabar ash all over his face. Fortunately, that young man reacted quickly and closed his big watery eyes just in time. All we heard was a squeak from behind followed by a gust of cold wind passing through before everything returned to calmness.
The master agreed, and I sealed off the stairs. Tonight, we would sleep in the room at Old Ning. I asked if I could wash my face first.
The master replied that there was no need to wash; I looked fine, like a little brat singing in the Flower Drum Opera. I understood what he meant—having this on my face felt safer. At least if things went south in the future, I could still rely on my looks to get by.
I was still pondering how this was a test for me.
I asked the master, "Since we've already sent him off, why do we need to erect a tombstone? You don't even know his name; it seems meaningless to pay respects."
The master said, "It's about giving him some respect, providing us with peace of mind. It's a way to remember this place and give our conscience a resolution. Can you still say it's meaningless?"
I further inquired about the hand seals and that talisman he used later; I had never seen them before.
The master chuckled lightly, ruffled my hair, and said, "Take your time. With your heart in it, you'll learn everything you need to in due course."
After he finished speaking, we both bowed three times before the grave and slowly walked away from that respectful little tomb, heading up the mountain.
The sunset stretched our shadows long against the ground, and there were no clouds in the sky. Yet, at that moment, a light rain began to fall. Every sunny day has its few drops of rain, just as every person carries a few sorrowful stories behind them.
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