Chapter Twenty: The Fragrance Lingers in the Gentle Breeze

“Young man, have some soup!”
Perhaps it was the poor lighting under the cloak of night, but when I saw the hand extending from his sleeve, gripping the bowl, the skin appeared ashen and dark, covered with hair, and the nails were unnaturally sharp, glinting coldly like blades.
For a moment, I felt dazed. I took the bowl of soup as the gray-robed Daoist smiled broadly, signaling for me to drink it.
“Boss!” Er Pang reminded me beside him.
I tilted the bowl slightly and saw black hairs floating inside—disgusting. Without another word, I hurled the bowl to the ground and turned to leave.
“Young man, I am sorry for your uncle’s death, perhaps we did not consider everything. But I believe, his death was not retribution—he took his own life, and it has nothing to do with our plan to relocate the graves,” the gray-robed Daoist called out behind me, his words meant for both me and the villagers.
Clenching my fists, trembling all over, Er Pang held my shoulder firmly. He whispered, “Boss, calm down. Just treat his words as nonsense.”
He kept his grip on my shoulder until we were outside, only then releasing me. He knew, as soon as he let go, I would explode.
If the gray-robed Daoist really was a rat spirit, killing me would be as easy as crushing an ant. I calmed myself, and together with Er Pang, we persuaded his mother to return home.
On the way, Er Pang’s mother said nothing, her mood noticeably low.
Due to being a single-parent family, with no labor force at home and a lingering injury in her waist, Er Pang’s mother couldn’t work, and their family lived in poverty.
We walked in silence until we neared Er Pang’s home. Then his mother spoke.
“Little Wu, you two should let me go. I’ll just have a bowl of merit soup. I saw it—it really cures illnesses.”
Er Pang’s full name was Lin Wu; his mother had called him Little Wu since childhood.
“Mom, that soup is not safe!” Er Pang replied.
“Little Wu, you’re not young anymore, and I can’t work like this. If that merit soup cures my waist, I could go out and earn money for your wedding fund!”
Her words were simple, but painfully real. With only bare walls at home, finding a wife would be difficult.
At this, Er Pang’s eyes filled with tears. He choked out that he was grown now and she needn’t worry about that.
But after our persuasion, Er Pang’s mother returned home and didn’t drink the so-called merit soup.
Yet, the next day, when I saw Er Pang’s mother, her waist was straight.
She walked with vigor.
In my memory, she always walked with a slight bend.
I asked if she’d had the merit soup, but she firmly denied it, saying it was just the good weather—her waist wasn’t hurting.
But lately, the weather had been dreary, foggy every day, neither rainy nor sunny; there was no such thing as “good weather.”
At meals, Er Pang’s mother only brought food for Er Pang and me, never eating herself.
I found this odd and quietly told Er Pang to follow her and see what she was up to. He nodded.
As for my uncle’s death, I still had doubts—especially about the evil spirit mentioned by Granny Wang.
My uncle was possessed by something evil, believed his days were numbered, and used his life to secure temporary peace for the old grave slope.
To avenge him, I’d have to deal with that evil as well.

After Er Pang left, I was alone in my uncle’s courtyard.
I went inside and searched everywhere.
I nearly turned over the entire house, but aside from some nut shells gnawed by rats, I found no other clues.
As I puzzled over this, suddenly there was a clatter—the sound of something falling on the table.
I spun around to find the candlestick before my uncle’s shrine had toppled.
There were no candles, so no fire hazard. I righted the candlestick, but noticed something odd about the shrine.
Shrines are meant for deities, usually with three offerings and three sticks of incense.
I’d grown up with my grandfather and knew the saying, “Three for gods, four for ghosts,” but my uncle’s shrine had four offerings.
Checking the incense holder, I saw four burnt ends.
So this wasn’t a shrine for gods, but for spirits.
The shrine was draped in red cloth. Carefully lifting it, I saw two memorial tablets:
Lin Xiaofeng
Bai Ningxiang
Just simple names, no titles.
I’d assumed it was for my aunt or cousin, but these were unfamiliar names.
And, more strangely, the two memorial tablets were tied together with a red string.
From the offerings and incense, my uncle had been making daily offerings to these spirits.
Who were they, and why were they honored in my uncle’s home?
As I pondered, I heard Er Pang and his mother arguing outside.
I covered the shrine and went out.
Er Pang was telling his mother, “Mom, if you don’t believe me, ask Boss—he’s Grandpa’s grandson. Let him tell you if what I just said is true.”
“Er Pang, calm down. What happened?” I asked.
“Boss, didn’t we already tell my mom not to drink that soup? She insists on it—ask her, she’s had it three times!”
He spoke anxiously, obviously worried about her.
I sighed, realizing Er Pang’s mother had indeed gone to drink the merit soup.
“Little Wu, it’s fine, look at me—I’m well again!” she said, a hint of joy on her face. Her waist truly seemed healed, and her health was better than before.
From the outside, nothing seemed amiss.
Still concerned, I fetched Niu Dahuang to check her pulse.
He said her qi and blood were good, her pulse steady, her body much improved. Most importantly, her waist injury was completely healed; she could work without trouble.
After Niu Dahuang’s examination, Er Pang and I felt slightly relieved, but unease lingered.
That merit soup didn’t seem like a simple cure.
Er Pang’s mother assured us she wouldn’t drink it again now that her illness was gone.
At lunch, she prepared food and brought it over.
We were about to eat together, but after one bite, she ran outside, clutching the wall and retching.

Er Pang followed her out, worried, but she said she was fine.
Afterwards, she didn’t eat a single bite, claiming her stomach felt off—maybe from eating leftovers yesterday.
I didn’t dwell on it. At midday, I went to Niu Dahuang for some herbal medicine and brought it over.
After that, I made a trip to Eastwa Village.
Granny Wang said He Xiaojing was watching Ma Quezi for her. I wanted to ask if there was any news.
But Granny Wang said He Xiaojing hadn’t come to her, so Ma Quezi hadn’t made a move yet. When he did, we’d hear.
I nodded; for now, all we could do was wait. Ma Quezi was in the shadows, we were in the open—we had to be cautious.
All day, I kept thinking about the memorial tablets in my uncle’s house.
If they were ancestral, there should be a prefix, like “Lin family, generation so-and-so,” but these had no such mark, and looked newly made.
Thinking back, I’d never seen this shrine or the tablets when I’d visited my uncle’s house before.
At present, Granny Wang knew the most about our village’s secrets.
I pinned my hopes on her and went to consult.
Hearing the names Lin Xiaofeng and Bai Ningxiang, Granny Wang paused.
She asked where I’d seen those names.
She clearly knew them. But since my uncle’s shrine was so secret, I didn’t answer directly, instead asked her, “Who are these two?”
Granny Wang said she’d only heard a story about them.
Whether it was true, she didn’t know, but it was moving.
I sat down to listen as Granny Wang began her tale.
She said Lin Xiaofeng was a Daoist, extremely powerful—one of the strongest of his time.
There was a prophecy: beneath Heaven’s Way, there are fifty paths; forty-nine are revealed, and one hidden.
Of three thousand who attain the Dao, any beyond are forbidden by Heaven’s Way.
At that time, three thousand had already attained it, but Lin Xiaofeng defied this, disregarding Heaven’s warning to attain his own Dao.
After his enlightenment, Heaven sent various calamities, but none could harm him, until he met a woman—
Bai Ningxiang.
They fell in love, passionately.
Heaven, unable to kill Lin Xiaofeng, sent shadow envoys to capture Bai Ningxiang’s soul, banishing her to the netherworld—without trial, consigned to the deepest hell, denied reincarnation.
When Lin Xiaofeng learned this, he raged, even threatening Heaven itself.
Heaven gave a condition: if Lin Xiaofeng would forsake his Dao and return to mortal life, Bai Ningxiang would be spared. Otherwise, her soul would be destroyed.
Here, Granny Wang paused and asked me, “What do you think Lin Xiaofeng did?”
“Did he really forsake his Dao and become mortal?” I asked in return.