Xiangguo Temple (1)

In April, a mist-like light rain drifted through the sky above Bianliang, moistening the leaves of the elm and willow trees planted along the long streets until they appeared increasingly emerald and jade-like. Row upon row of blue-black rooftop tiles and whitewashed walls took on a more distant and desolate feel in the rain, and the city's ceaseless bustle, day and night, was also diluted significantly.

Even though it was drizzling lightly, the area in front of the green-tiled, red-walled Xiangguo Temple was still densely packed with vendors' stalls, selling livestock such as chickens, ducks, cats, and dogs. Behind the wide-open temple gates, there were also two rows of stalls on each side, filled with a dazzling array of goods and trinkets. People holding oil-paper umbrellas shuttled shoulder to shoulder among the stalls, bargaining and chatting with the vendors, carrying bags big and small in their hands.

Five days a month, Xiangguo Temple opened to the public, and during these five days, the temple was perhaps the most bustling place in all of Bianliang.

A Daoist in green clothes without an umbrella slowly passed through the crowd. His facial features were handsome and profound, looking to be around thirty, but his hair had already turned completely white. He didn't wear a crown in his hair, only a green jade hairpin. Dressed in blue-green Daoist robes, he was tall with broad shoulders, carrying a bundle and a heavy, ancient bronze sword on his back, while his left hand held a plain-colored horsetail whisk.

Unlike others, he didn't browse the goods, but walked straight through three sets of gates, stopping only when he reached the Mahavira Hall. He offered three sticks of incense before the solemn statue of Sakyamuni, and then slowly walked towards the monk sitting behind a desk at the hall's entrance.

The monk guarding the hall was named Yuan Heng, a young monk seemingly under twenty. When the Daoist came in just now, he had already noticed the man's extraordinary bearing and the sword on his back, feeling quite intrigued. Now, seeing the Daoist actually walking towards him, he hurriedly stood up.

The Daoist stopped in front of him, forming a mudra in front of his chest by connecting his right index finger and thumb, and bowed slightly in greeting. The young monk quickly pressed his hands together in return. "From where does the Zhenren come?"

The Daoist said, "This humble one's title is Tan Yangzi, coming from the east."

Hearing his deep, slow, and steady voice, an indescribable sense of awe surged in the young monk's heart. "This humble monk's dharma name is Yuan Heng. May I ask if the Zhenren is wandering here, or visiting a friend?"

"Neither wandering, nor visiting a friend." The Daoist calling himself Tan Yangzi suddenly shifted the topic and asked, "May I dare ask, has there been anything unusual in the temple within the past month?"

Upon this question, Yuan Heng's expression suddenly changed. But he quickly waved his hand with a touch of awkwardness, saying, "Unusual? There's nothing unusual. Why does the Zhenren ask this?"

Tan Yangzi said, "What I call unusual counts as any minor thing in life that does not follow cause and effect. For instance, hearing sounds that shouldn't exist, picking up objects that shouldn't exist, seeing people who shouldn't be there, or discovering that things or people that were originally there are gone. Have none of these situations occurred?"

Yuan Heng mumbled hesitatingly.

Seeing him hesitate, the Daoist added patiently, "If you don't speak up now, the situation will only intensify in the future. Once it gets completely out of hand, I'm afraid Xiangguo Temple, this blessed land of good feng shui, will have its fortune exhausted and its energy dispersed."

Hearing this, Yuan Heng felt a chill in his heart. In fact, there had indeed been some strange occurrences in the temple over the past couple of days. However, the abbot had forbidden the spreading of rumors, saying it was committing sins of speech, so he didn't dare to talk about it rashly with others. It was just that the Daoist's cold and stern gaze concealed a trace of sharpness, and his tone was so resolute, almost as if he was certain something strange was happening here. It made him suspect that the other party might be a Maoshan Daoist with some ghost-catching experience. Although the abbot of their temple was erudite, he never deigned to believe in rumors of demons and ghosts, ignoring those strange incidents. In the end, wasn't it the lower-ranking monks like them who suffered the bad luck... He might as well tell this Daoist about it.

"Actually... there indeed have been some strange things..."

If one were to trace the source, these strange occurrences probably started about a month ago. That night, after washing up and returning to the monks' quarters, Yuan Heng read scriptures for a while before slipping under the covers. His roommate, junior martial brother Yuan Jing, had already fallen asleep. Nights in the temple were usually much quieter than elsewhere, and even a prominent temple with flourishing incense like Xiangguo Temple was no exception. Apart from the occasional passing carriages and horses outside the temple, there were no other sounds around, so even the slightest rustle of wind and grass could be clearly distinguished.

Yuan Heng's bed directly faced a window. The shadow of the ancient pagoda tree outside the window was cast onto the window screen, swaying gently with the night breeze. Every day, as Yuan Heng watched the tree shadow sway back and forth, his eyelids would grow heavier, and he would soon fall into a deep sleep. But on this particular night, just as he was slipping onto the edge of dreamland, he was pulled back into wakefulness by a rustling sound.

In the darkness, he heard someone muttering scriptures incessantly.

It was about the fourth watch of the night. What kind of nerve was Yuan Jing losing in the middle of the night? Yuan Heng propped himself up and looked towards Yuan Jing's bed, only to see Yuan Jing sleeping soundly with his head covered. Although he wasn't snoring, his breathing was long and steady, showing no signs of having gotten up.

However, the sound of chanting still drifted like an undercurrent or a hidden breeze in the pitch-black room. The voice wasn't loud, but it was muffled and hard to pinpoint its direction, and... it seemed as if it was right beside his ear...

Thinking this, Yuan Heng shivered.

Could it be that in this room... there was someone else?

He quickly got up and carefully looked around the room. Their monk's quarter wasn't large, basically only fitting two beds, a wooden wardrobe, and a wooden rack for washing and hanging clothes. He quietly opened the wardrobe door; it was packed full of monk's robes, bedding, mosquito nets, and the like. There was nowhere to hide a person.

Breathing a sigh of relief, he lay back on his bed, and his eyelids grew heavy again. Even the incessant, muffled chanting seemed somewhat distant now.

"Let me in."

Yuan Heng woke up instantly.

That sentence just now sounded as if someone had leaned over and spoken right into his ear. The fine hairs on his ear could even feel the breathing.

Yuan Heng whipped his head around. Through the faint moonlight, he saw on the opposite bed, Yuan Jing was kneeling rigidly facing him, his eyes wide open, staring at him expressionlessly.

Terrified, Yuan Heng scrambled backward until his back was pressed against the wall, and cursed, "What are you doing going crazy instead of sleeping in the middle of the night!"

But Yuan Jing said nothing. He continued to look at him for a while with that stiff, expressionless look, then suddenly lay back down, and not long after, let out faint snoring sounds again.

Was he sleepwalking?

Was that sentence just now spoken by Yuan Jing? But Yuan Jing was clearly sitting on the bed, while the voice seemed to be right by his ear...

Having been woken up like this twice, Yuan Heng couldn't fall asleep no matter what, keeping his eyes open until dawn. He originally thought it was probably just that one night, but he didn't expect that three days later, Yuan Heng would wake up again around the fourth watch of the night.

That night, the moonlight was dim, and the darkness was much heavier than usual. The wind was howling outside the window, yet he could still hear the rustling chanting he had heard three days prior.

The tree shadows outside the window were still swaying, but looking at them, he felt they seemed different from usual... They seemed... to have more branches?

Moreover, the way those branches swayed was also a little concerning. At first, he couldn't put his finger on what was wrong, but after watching for a long time, he gradually discovered something hair-raising...

The way those branches swayed was too deliberate; it didn't look like they were being blown by the wind, but rather... like something extremely thin and long was intentionally swaying and twisting its limbs, imitating branches...

An inexplicable fear surged forth. Yuan Heng pulled his quilt over his head. In the darkness, he could only hear his own breathing and heartbeat, and that excessively fast heartbeat still couldn't calm him down.

In the room, a bizarre atmosphere permeated, along with a faint stench.

At first, Yuan Heng thought Yuan Jing had farted, but the smell was too strange. It was somewhat like the foul stench of food that had been left to rot for a long time.

Before dawn broke, Yuan Heng finally began to feel a bit sleepy. But right at this moment, he heard that whisper again.

"Let me in."

After a few days like this, Yuan Heng's mental state grew worse and worse, so he told his master, Master Guan Yi, about the matter. It was then that he learned that several other fellow martial brothers had also heard the chanting and seen the strange shadows, but after asking around, no one had chanted in the middle of the night. One or two weaker martial brothers had even fallen ill because of this, and the others' spirits were deteriorating day by day.

Master Guan Yi reported the matter to the abbot, Master Guan Yun, but the abbot paid it no mind, believing that some meddlesome young monks were intentionally causing trouble, and he even forbade the monks from spreading the matter privately. Everyone had no choice but to keep their mouths shut. However, the situation did not improve. By the middle of the month, one night Yuan Jing suddenly got up in the middle of the night and opened the door. But instead of going out, he just stood at the doorway, poking his head out. A groggy Yuan Heng asked him what he was looking at in the middle of the night, but Yuan Jing asked him in return, "Didn't you hear someone knocking on the door just now?"

Yuan Heng was baffled. "No?"

Yuan Jing gave an "oh" and went back to sleep. But since that night, Yuan Jing became very strange as a whole. He didn't talk to him much, and whenever he did speak, he was eccentric and sarcastic. Once, he even heard Yuan Jing criticizing him behind his back to another monk. Yuan Jing used to have the best relationship with him, but lately, it was as if he was possessed by a demon, picking a fight after barely exchanging a few words. And it wasn't just Yuan Jing; over the past half a month, incidents frequently broke out in the temple, and disputes constantly arose among the monks. There had been three or four physical fights in a row, more frequent than in the past two years combined, and all over trivial matters. The abbot seemed furious as well, severely punishing the monks who had resorted to violence. But even so, the recent atmosphere in Xiangguo Temple was oppressive; it was as if an invisible string had been pulled taut between the monks, ready to snap at any moment.

In addition, there was that shadow-like smell of rot. Like maggots attached to a bone, it lingered in their noses at all times. It was in the monks' quarters, the scripture hall, and the meditation rooms. Yuan Heng heard from Yuan Qing, a young monk who worked in the kitchen, that the vegetables in the kitchen rotted exceptionally fast these days. Sometimes, cabbage bought just the day before would be covered in thick green mold the next day. The rice in the rice vats had also bred maggots and was covered in spotty mildew.

Listening to Yuan Heng recount all this, Tan Yangzi gave a soft scoff, his eyes looking at the compassionate face of the Buddha statue. "The ghost is indeed here."