Chapter 18: Human or Ghost

Chapter 18: Man or Ghost

Zhang Sanlu tightened the bundle on his back, which concealed a human head, before threading through the dense bamboo grove. He followed the narrow path, circled around the main hall, and arrived first at Tongxuan’s chamber.

The room was dim; the walls paved with blue bricks hung with various talismans whose meanings eluded him. The air carried a faint fragrance of incense mingled with dust. At the center stood a broad wooden table, scattered with books and several bamboo scrolls.

Sunlight streamed through the half-open window, casting mottled patterns onto the floor, where tiny motes danced in the beams.

Zhang Sanlu searched the chamber with care. He reasoned that after living two hundred and eighty years, Tongxuan must have left behind something valuable, something he hadn’t yet revealed.

His gaze finally settled beneath a faded diagram of the Eight Trigrams. Gently lifting the carpet, he discovered a loose blue brick under the diagram—a hidden compartment, most likely containing something of significance.

Before reaching out to remove the brick, Zhang Sanlu paused, a thought stirring within him. He took the head from his bundle and placed it in front of him as a shield, then carefully drew out the brick.

A swift shadow shot out, striking the bundle. It dissipated like a ring of smoke, vanishing in an instant.

Zhang Sanlu wondered at the purpose of the smoke. Suddenly, where the smoke had struck, the fabric began to lose its color and sheen. Once sturdy, the cloth became brittle and fragile. Tiny holes appeared in the center, their edges ragged as though gnawed by countless insects.

As the corrosion intensified, the fabric tore. Its tight weave was destroyed. Zhang Sanlu quickly tossed the bundle to the floor, where, under the smoke’s corrosive influence, it disintegrated into unrecognizable scraps. The head rolled out from the ruins, its twisted eyes staring at Zhang Sanlu with eerie intensity.

The head had not been affected by the smoke; in fact, it looked more lifelike than before.

Zhang Sanlu looked down at the hidden compartment beneath the loose brick. Inside lay a short rod, nearly a foot in length, one end sharp, the other flat. He wrapped it in a cloth from the table and brought it to his eyes.

The rod was evidently made of bronze, its surface carved with intricate designs. The grip displayed a deep green patina, the mark of time upon bronze. One end tapered into a keen point. The handle fit comfortably in the palm, adorned with delicate patterns and a single archaic character at the center. The motifs at either end complemented each other, lending the rod a harmonious beauty.

Beside the rod rested a book, several yellow talismans, and nine red pills. The book’s cover bore only two words: “Forest of All Things.” It was deeply yellowed, its edges frayed. Zhang Sanlu opened it cautiously, finding the first two pages inscribed with brief, poem-like lines.

“All phenomena—Forest of All Things, born of the dualities; myriad laws converge, the three corpses cut off…”

“With my blood…”

“With my limbs…”

“The agony of being devoured…”

“The abyss of my stomach…”

…

After reading the first two pages, he flipped through the rest, discovering all remaining pages were blank.

“What is this? So mysterious.” Though many words eluded him, the hidden nature of the book and its guarded compartment convinced him of its importance, as well as that of the rod.

He picked up the yellow talismans, only to find they differed from his understanding. These three were not inscribed with cinnabar, nor were they the usual rectangular shape. They seemed to be made of animal hide, torn by hand into three forms—human, ox, horse—though their purpose was unclear. He tucked them away, one by one.

“Master?!”

Lost in thought, Zhang Sanlu was startled by a timid voice at the door.

Looking up, he saw the novice Taoist, Suqing, whom he had not seen for a day and a night.

Zhang Sanlu felt a pang of guilt towards Suqing, whom he had once used for his own ends. He hastened to explain, “Suqing, I’m not Master Tongxuan. I’m Zhenfu.”

“Senior Brother?!” Suqing was clearly shocked, his gaze dropping to see Zhenfu’s severed head. His face turned pale, hair bristling, and he twisted to flee.

“Don’t panic, don’t panic. Tongxuan used the novices for alchemy, tried to seize my body, but I killed him. Now I can’t return to my own body, so I became him…” Zhang Sanlu quickly tried to explain as simply as possible, all the while watching Suqing for the slightest reaction.

Suqing’s face was a tapestry of confusion, as if frozen in place. Fear gave way to doubt, then to disbelief. His brows knit, lips parted, seeking words yet unable to find any suitable to express his turmoil.

After a few breaths, Suqing inhaled deeply, attempting composure, though shock still rendered him speechless. His expression flickered between bewilderment and fear. His gaze wandered, searching for evidence to support this tale, but everything around seemed unchanged, as always.

Suqing swallowed, finally forcing out a trembling phrase, “How…how can this be?”

His voice quivered, betraying unease and uncertainty. He needed time to process this, proof to support so improbable a claim.

Now was the moment to question him, to discern truth from falsehood.

“So, where were you last night?” Zhang Sanlu asked, listening intently to Suqing’s voice, observing his breath—those involuntary signs that betray a liar.

“I…I was in the woodshed last night, secretly reading the Wuwang Sutra by firelight, then fell asleep by accident.” Suqing’s face remained troubled.

Zhang Sanlu noted his speech quickened, pitch rising subtly on certain words—was he emphasizing, or trying to conceal?

He pressed on, “Did you know about Master Tongxuan’s alchemical murders?”

“Senior Brother, I…I…how would I know?” Suqing stammered with agitation.

Zhang Sanlu saw Suqing’s chest rise and fall unnaturally as he spoke—was it emotion, or suppressed truth? As one well versed in illness, he knew that truth often lies not in words, but in those nonverbal cues that cannot be disguised.

“Alright, go pack your things. Soon we’ll leave here with Manshan and Qiuming.” Zhang Sanlu, unable to detect any obvious deceit, told him so.

Unexpectedly, Suqing recoiled several steps, eyes wide, mouth agape—more terrified than when he learned of Tongxuan’s murderous alchemy, as if stricken to the core.

Before Zhang Sanlu could ask, Suqing cried out in shock:

“Manshan and Qiuming?! Didn’t they die a few days ago, during Master’s alchemy experiment?!”