The Return of the Soul

Chapter 2

Great, now I understand why he's so popular. Turns out, he can spout cheesy lines without batting an eye. So many female celebrities can hug him and kiss him so easily—not everyone can do that. Without that nine-tenths of his cunning and ruthlessness, how could he become a superstar? Clearly, I'm not cut out to be a female celebrity fangirl. For such a stunningly handsome superstar to say such things to a flat-chested, plain-faced woman like me, I just feel cold. I don't feel excited or about to faint. Cold, so cold my teeth are chattering.

He trembled a few times, waving the white handkerchief in his hand like a white flag raised by a defeated side. He covered his face and said, "I'm sorry, I don't know why I said those things. I've never said anything like that before." As soon as the words left his mouth, he himself wasn't sure, and asked me guiltily, "Really?"

The ancestors of the Chinese nation

I didn't answer. I had just remembered what he said—not the crazy ramblings at the end, but the important points at the beginning. These kinds of points, when I was in school, were marked with a red pen and were always on the exam. I was terrified by his words. He said: "If you come but can't go, if you don't get a result, you'll be here trying to die for ten thousand years."

This is terrifying. This desert is nothing but fog, endless fog. How can one possibly endure this endless, timeless expanse? What demon created time to torment the human mind? I wish I could bang my head against the ground, catch that express train to life, be the first to drink that bowl of salvation soup, and be a carefree infant again. I know the only thing hard to buy in this world is a pill for regret, but I never imagined it would be the same here.

When I first arrived, I was happy to be a ghost and was full of hope in pursuing my dream of being a ghost.

That's not how it is.

So it really is a rush to be reincarnated. It turns out that saying "You're rushing to be reincarnated?" isn't just the most vicious insult; it's more like saying you have nowhere to be reincarnated as a ghost. I remember comparing myself to the Crimson Pearl Fairy before; now I realize how arrogant I was. I'm just a lowly ghost, unable to live or die, how could I possibly be associated with the word "fairy"?

But what exactly has left me stuck between life and death? What unfulfilled wish do I have that would put me in such a tragic situation?

In a trembling voice, I asked him, "Are there really ghosts that are ten thousand years old? Have you encountered one?"

He nodded, gave a slight smirk, and said, “I’ve been here for a long time, wandering around, and I’ve encountered many ghosts who have lingered here. They’re all acting like madmen. When people die, they become ghosts, and when ghosts die, they become ’Nian’. Once you become a Nian, you can never be reincarnated. Over time, the ghosts become depressed and die, becoming mad Nian. Even other ghosts are afraid of them.”

I stared at him, a fleeting thought vaguely passing through my mind, too quick to grasp. I knew this thought was extremely important, but I didn't know how to bring it back.

Seeing me in a daze, he thought he had frightened me, so he said with utmost apology, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I just want you to tell me who I am, how I died, so I can be free of all attachments and start over. I don't want to become a ghost here that even ghosts are afraid of. I want a new life. Even if someone betrayed me, sold me out, or framed me in my life, even if I swore an oath that I would haunt you even as a ghost, I'm willing to take it back. I don't care about anything, just let me go."

The despair on his face was contagious; I saw myself in his face. We were kindred spirits. If I were to encounter a new ghost who knew how I died, I would offer my heart to move him, to bribe him, to give me hope, to rescue me from this eternal illusion.

I stared at him, speechless.

He said, "Come, let me take you to see that ten-thousand-year-old ghost, the nine-thousand-year-old 'Nian'."

"I don't want to. I don't want to." I said, "I don't want to. You're just trying to scare me, to make me blurt out something so you'll leave. You've scared me like this, and you think you can just walk away? I helped you, but what do you have to do to help me? We're complete strangers, why should I help you? Am I Lei Feng? Is today March 5th?" I paced around frantically, my mind in turmoil.

He wasn't angry. He took a step and floated over to my side, accompanying me for a while.

Indeed, in such a desolate place, what's the rush? It's just a matter of walking and stopping, with no scenery to see anyway. After walking a while, I calmed down and said, "I know who you are, but I don't know how you died." Telling him would put his mind at ease. I wasn't a selfish person as a human, and I'm not a bad ghost either. I won't force him to suffer or prevent him from being reincarnated just to keep him by my side for company. Do not do to others what you would not have them do to you. I so desperately wanted to know the cause of my death; why should I make things difficult for him?

A flicker of pain crossed his handsome face, which I found incredibly painful to watch. I wanted nothing more than to tell him everything I knew. He nodded slightly, remaining silent, as if waiting for my explanation.

Then I explained it to him: "Don't disbelieve me. You should remember that when we first met, I asked you a question. What did I ask you?" I didn't say what I asked. I wanted him to tell me so that he would believe me.

Sure enough, he remembered. He said, "How did you die?" After saying that, his face was as stiff as a mask, as if it would make a "crackling" sound if you tapped it, which made me feel extremely sorry for him.

We ghosts, by nature, have long since lost all color in our faces, leaving only a sallow, dull, and unsightly appearance. But we still have expressions; joy, anger, sorrow, and happiness can all be displayed through the movement of our facial muscles. Plus, he's a big star, a handsome man; every frown and smile has been trained, making him undeniably attractive. What's so attractive about being a ghost? Hmph, go watch Tom Cruise in *The Visit to the Vampire*, and you'll see what's so attractive about a handsome man with a deathly pale face.

He remained silent for a long time, then suddenly took off running, disappearing into the misty plains in the blink of an eye. From afar came the mournful howls of an injured animal, one after another, echoing back before fading away. There was no echo.

I cried without tears, my throat aching from sobs, my heart clenching. If I were still alive, such weeping would have killed me long ago, but now it was just pain.

It's just pain. The pain is so intense it feels like my internal organs have shifted, so intense it feels like my eyeballs are about to pop out of their sockets, so intense it forces me to close my eyes. There are no tears to moisten them, so I can only close them to ease the thirst.

Then I felt the mist vibrate, causing my skirt to clung to my ankles. I figured the superstar must have come back after his outburst, kicking up the mist as he ran, which brushed against the hem of my skirt. Without opening my eyes, I said, "You want to know your name? I know that."

He didn't answer. I opened my eyes, and instead of the face of that superstar, a gigantic, heartthrob, stood a few feet away, staring down at me with his pitch-black eyes. This ugly man had a head of thick, black, tangled hair, piled high on his head like a lion's mane. He also had a thick, black beard that covered his entire face, each hair like a tangled dragon. His face was pitch black, as black as the bottom of a pot. His eyes were as big as fists, the pupils as black as coal. His nose was even bigger than a fist, a bulbous nose with upturned nostrils. His ugly face was completely covered by black hair and beard, revealing no expression. He wasn't an African; he was just really black, as black as the black-faced Bao Gong from the Peking Opera stage.

He was completely naked, his jet-black body covered only by a few leaves from the waist down. His arms and legs were covered in bulging muscles, and even his dark, brick-kiln-like waist and abdomen had perfectly defined eight-pack abs. This ugly man had the muscular physique of a young Arnold Schwarzenegger, but looked mentally impaired.

It was terrifying. He was going to strangle me; he could crush me with just one finger. I didn't dare speak, afraid of saying the wrong thing or breathing too heavily and disturbing him.

Wait, I'm a ghost, why should I be afraid of him? I'm just worried about not finding a way to die. If he's willing to kill me, wouldn't I be able to be reincarnated? I asked tremblingly, "Who are you?" After asking, I cursed myself for being stupid. None of the ghosts here know who they are. Asking this is like asking a blind man for directions. So I changed my question and asked, "Do you want to know how you died? I don't know who you are, so I don't know how you died."

When the ugly ghost saw me speak, he listened intently, but after a while he couldn't understand, so he started gesturing wildly. I watched for a while, but I still couldn't understand, so I shrugged and we looked at each other blankly.

This time, because of the willingness to communicate, the fear had subsided. Looking at him again, I realized that although he was tall and big, thick and strong, ugly and strange-looking, dressed in an ancient and simple style, and was a deaf and mute, he did not have a fierce demeanor. Moreover, there was a warm feeling in his dark eyes, like that of a child.

I recalled the words of the superstar emperor about the ghosts that were ten thousand years old and the worms that were nine thousand years old. I knew I had encountered the ancestor of the Chinese nation, and I immediately bowed respectfully to him. My heart was surging with emotion, and I wanted to cry three vats of tears. My throat was gurgling, but I couldn't utter a sound.

He ignored me, gestured for a while, and seeing that I was dumbfounded and didn't seem to have the answer he wanted, he sighed deeply, turned around and ran off again with incredible speed.

He ran, he sprinted, he leaped, he bounded. He ran faster and faster, startling the mist, which swirled around his waist like a white veil, like auspicious clouds, like drizzling rain. His majestic figure reached towards the heavens, and the wilderness trembled and undulated with his run, like a sudden small earthquake.

Watching his majestic running figure, I suddenly realized who he was and immediately called out, "Hey you..." I barely managed to get the word out before I tried to bite my tongue off. How rude of me! How rude of me! How could I address him with "you"? I chased after him, trying to think of a response. What should I call him? His name? His name was just something later made up. When he first started running, traversing mountains, seas, and wastelands, he was all alone in the world. Who would call out to him? He wouldn't stop at the sound of anything; any sound to him was merely the wind passing through the mountains and marshes.

But I know what answer he wants, and I can tell him. I think I know what he wants to ask, what he is chasing. When he left because of hunger and exhaustion, he must have been unwilling. That unwillingness made him linger between life and death, running tirelessly, searching for the answer.

I encountered him on a narrow path, carrying the answer, but the vast time difference prevented me from speaking to him. He ran off like the wind, and I chased after him, breathless, watching helplessly as he brushed past the answer. If it were possible, would he stop his tireless steps here, lie down, and transform into Kunlun and Taishan, into great rivers and streams, supporting yet another world?

Marquis of Saigo, the Third General

I watched him run into the fog and disappear without a trace. I clutched my chest, feeling a pang of melancholy, marveling at my incredible adventure. It was truly amazing, truly amazing! To have such an experience, I'd die a hundred times over. In classical terms, it would be "dying a hundred times without regret." Bah! I couldn't even die cleanly once, let alone die a hundred times!

I sat down, hugged my knees, and stared blankly.

Encountering a figure from ancient legends is certainly interesting, but what benefit does it bring to my situation? The superstar in my time is just a legend, as entertaining and educational as any legend. But compared to that ancient figure, he's merely a small star, while that ancient person was a true superstar. I've suddenly encountered the biggest star; should I go buy a lottery ticket to celebrate?

Why did I encounter two stars, one small and one large, all at once? Could it be...?

I got excited. Oh my god, this is just the beginning! All the people who can't die will gather here. Didn't Emperor Xiaoxing say that this is a transitional zone between life and death? Some ghosts, haunted by unfinished wishes from their past lives, refuse to give up their search for answers and thus remain here.

Now that I've encountered the first celebrity who died unwillingly, how many more celebrities who died mysteriously will I be able to admire? I was so excited that I trembled all over, and I couldn't count them all on my fingers.

If we consider the Emperor's minor star as one star based on importance and influence, then the ancient man who died running earlier would be five stars. Reason for the star rating: He was truly great, setting off alone to chase the sun. He didn't know that even starting from Jambudvipa, crossing the ocean to Purva-videha, Aparagodaniya, and Uttarakuru, running back and forth three or five times, he still wouldn't catch up with the sunrise and moonrise. But for his perseverance and his bold ambition to do what he set out to do, he deserves this ranking.

Who else? Who else? I was so shocked by my discovery that I couldn't calm down. I didn't even want to look for a clear historical context. I just picked the ones I was most familiar with and the ones I was most wronged to count.

Cao Xueqin (Cao Gongzhan) must have been incredibly frustrated. First, he finished writing the article, then lost it—that was already frustrating enough. Then, someone altered the second half, making it unrecognizable. If I were him, I would surely die with my eyes wide open in disbelief. As a literary master of unparalleled brilliance, he definitely deserves five stars.

Will I meet him? Will I meet him? Could I possibly have the chance to find the answer that Chinese scholars have been searching for for three hundred years? If he's here, and I have nothing else to do, I must find him. I know *Dream of the Red Chamber* by heart; I can recite all the poems, understand all the relationships between the characters, and even distinguish between Qian Hua and Zhang Hua. Talking to him would surely bring me endless joy.

Once the thought arose, it was hard to suppress. I was too lazy to count how many stars others had, so I got up and set off. I'm not going to create a list of the top 10 most unfulfilled wishes of historical figures; why bother with that? I'll just give a three-and-a-half or four-star rating to whoever comes to mind when I think of a famous ghost.

Now I truly have a goal, and I'm fully motivated to be a ghost. Ten thousand years is such a long time, why not find something to do to fill the endless, boring free time?

I started searching for direction. Which way should I go? This cursed place has no east, west, south, or north, and it's so vast. Where do I even begin? Hmm, don't panic. I'm an educated modern person; I need to use scientific methods to find solutions and answers. If there's no path in front of me, I'll just treat this as the North Pole. As long as I keep walking, I'll eventually reach the South Pole.

I walked forward lightly, and because I was in a good mood, I even hummed a tune. The tune I hummed was: "Endless tears of longing fall like red beans, spring willows and flowers bloom endlessly in the painted pavilion, I can't sleep soundly after the wind and rain at dusk, I can't forget the new sorrows and old sorrows."

Cao Xueqin himself wrote the lyrics. Upon hearing them, he would surely know that the person humming the tune was his reader. If he were pleased, he might even appear to meet me. My singing this is like a secret code, like "Yellow River, Yellow River, I am the Yangtze River," like "The air is trembling, as if the sky is burning."

I hummed it a few times, but it wasn't good enough, not catchy enough, not impactful enough. This tune is modern; even if he heard it, he wouldn't know it was based on his own lyrics. Even if he changed it to Liu Xue'an's melody, it would only be a difference of fifty paces versus a hundred paces—what's the point? After thinking for a moment, I changed it to reciting a poem. The poem was: "Spring dreams scatter with the clouds, flying blossoms drift with the water. A message to all children: why seek idle sorrow?"

I'm not exaggerating when I say I'm well-versed in *Dream of the Red Chamber*. This short poem is what Baoyu heard singing behind the mountain as soon as he arrived at the Land of Illusion. The singer was none other than the Fairy Disenchantment. The poem is only twenty characters long, simple and straightforward, yet it's the key to the entire book. Aside from Mao Zedong's unique theory that the "protective talisman" in Chapter Four is the central theme of *Dream of the Red Chamber*—a theory based on "class struggle as the guiding principle"—everyone agrees that the *Dream of the Red Chamber* songs in Chapter Five are the true eye of the entire text. And this short poem is precisely the prelude to the prelude to the *Dream of the Red Chamber* songs. Only by reciting this poem could I truly understand its essence.

Most importantly, it's short. I can recite it a hundred or eighty times in one breath without any effort. If it were that long "Red Bean Song," wouldn't I be exhausted? I don't want to break any "Guinness World Records" or compete to be the person who sings the same song the most times.

I walked slowly along the way, reciting the poem in various tones of joy, anger, sorrow, and happiness, including broadcast tones, theatrical voices, and even local dialects.

When I had recited the poem 1,787 times, a figure emerged from the mist, took three steps to me, clenched a fist the size of a vinegar jar, and swung it at me, saying viciously, "You scoundrel, are you an idiot? You've been reciting these two lines over and over again until my ears are calloused. If you don't shut your mouth, watch out, your grandpa will punch your pretty face to pieces."

I've been chanting for so long, and finally a ghost has come out to chatter with me. I was so happy I jumped for joy, stopped, clasped my hands, and said, "May I ask who you are?" I finally caught a ghost talking to me; why wouldn't I seize the opportunity? I never imagined I could find Cao Xueqin anytime soon. This isn't like going to work where I'll see my boss with a dark face, ringing the bell every day, waiting for me to be late. I was prepared to spend decades searching slowly, but having a ghost to ask around is a good thing.

I sized up the ghost before me. He spoke with a thick, unruly accent, wore coarse white linen clothes, had two bushy, unruly eyebrows, glared with round eyes, and sported a short, imposing beard—he certainly looked like a hero. Could he be one of the Liangshan heroes? Hmph, what hero? They're all villains, killing without a second thought, only concerned with drinking from large bowls and eating fatty meat that tastes like cakes. I'm a delicate, refined girl; I never touch fatty meat. If I were to envy anything, it would be eggplant casserole, pine nut and goose fat rolls, or delicate noodles and lotus leaf soup. Since I've never found anything particularly appealing about them, I only gave him half a star in my mind.

The half-star demon glared at his ring eyes and said, "Who cares about that? I just want to know who cut off my head!"

I shouted, took three steps back, steadied myself, and clasped my hands in greeting again, saying, "So it's General Xixiang, the Third General." If it's indeed General Xixiang, then his star rating should be four stars. The missing star is because his bad temper dragged down his overall score.

He snorted and said dismissively, "What's with all this 'west, east, one, two, three' stuff? Do you even know anything?"

Of course I knew, but I couldn't believe that no one had told him such a simple question in 1,787 years. I felt a deep pity for him and asked, "I know. Most people in the world know this after the Third General was suddenly ambushed. Has the Third General never met anyone who could tell you?"

He waved his hand impatiently and said, "I've asked them. I caught one and questioned them one by one. They either howled like ghosts or ran away in fright. Such cowardly rats. I don't want to waste my breath on them."

I sighed inwardly and said, "How did you ask?" I didn't stand on ceremony with him; he didn't remember his title and ranking anyway, so I didn't want to cause him any more trouble.

He frowned and glanced at me. I was so worried my teeth were chattering, afraid he'd get angry and leave again, and I'd miss my chance to do something good. So I nodded frantically, trying to move him with a smile. For some reason, he didn't get angry. Instead, he said to me, "I'm just asking where my head is."

I slapped my thigh and said with exasperation, "You are not the Second General, so why are you asking about my head? The Second General only found out the whereabouts of my head after asking Laozi. Your question, though brief, is not to the point and has wasted the Third General's time."

He looked at me with a skeptical expression, then said, "If you know, just tell me quickly, don't ramble on and on, it'll only annoy people."

I quickly said, "The Third General's head was cut off by his two tailors, Zhang Da and Fan Jiang, with scissors. The two men took the Third General's fine head and rushed to Eastern Wu overnight to seek refuge with Bi Yan'er."

He paused for a moment, then asked, "Why did the tailor want to kill me?"

I gave a wry smile and said, "To avenge the Second General, the Third General mustered more than 10,000 soldiers and vowed to go to war in white robes and white clothes. He ordered the two men to rush to make them overnight. The two men were afraid that they would not be able to do it and were also afraid of the Third General's strict orders, so they resorted to this vicious act."

After hearing my words, he stood there for a long time, then let out a long breath, laughed loudly a few times, and said, "So that's how it is!" He laughed again, then fell backward into the thick fog, and didn't get up for a long time.

The fog enveloped him, covering his body. I waited for a long time, then tried calling out, "Third General? Third General?" I went forward again and stepped on the spot where he had disappeared, but there was nothing there. There was no him, no emptiness or trap; he had simply vanished into the fog.

Just as I was feeling completely bewildered, countless ghostly figures suddenly sprang out of the fog, surrounding me and staring at me. Their eyes gleamed with a greenish light, like those of hungry wolves. Terrified, I screamed, covering my head in a shrill voice exceeding one hundred decibels, causing the ghosts surrounding me to cover their ears and take two steps back.

I asked, trembling, "What do you want to do? What do you want to do? Huh?"

Some of them had trembling hands, some had bloodshot eyes, some mumbled incoherently, and some simply knelt down before me with a thud, saying, "Save us."

Hemp House Red Curtain

"Save you dead bodies, my foot! I'm barely able to save myself, let alone you!" But they were here first, and older than me. Out of respect for the elderly and the young, I made a very respectful gesture and said to the kneeling ghosts in a very formal manner, "Please rise, everyone. Your esteemed greetings are too much for this humble young lady." Seeing them staring blankly, I realized they weren't from ancient times after all; their clothes were quite elaborate, with all sorts of things. They couldn't understand classical Chinese? Fine, I'll translate it into plain language: "Please rise, everyone. I'm just a young lady; how could I possibly accept your courtesy?"

Those people stared at me for a long time, whispering and gossiping among themselves. Doing this in front of others was incredibly rude. I was about to storm off, but I couldn't bear to leave this "courtesy," so I yelled, "What do you want? Get it over with! A bunch of grown men, chattering away like a bunch of women. No wonder you're ghosts, it's a real case of yin prevailing over yang!"

Unexpectedly, my little outburst of temper made them calm down and put their minds at ease. One of them said, "We were suspicious when you referred to yourself as a young lady or a girl, so we whispered among ourselves. Now that it turns out you are not like that, we are relieved."

I was utterly astonished. What did that mean? Did they mean I wasn't a woman? Even if I were a little flat-chested, I wouldn't look like a stinky man, would I? Oh, I see. It turns out these ancient people were incredibly sexist. As soon as they heard I wasn't a man, they looked down on me, stopped crying for help, and just stared at me intently. Then, seeing that I had thrown a tantrum and was different from the women they knew in their past lives—that I was either female or male—they were willing to accept me again.

I sneered and said, "Whether you trust me or not is none of my business. To tell you the truth, I am neither male nor female. I am a piece of stone left over from the ancient goddess Nuwa's mending of the sky. I absorbed the essence of heaven and earth, the sun and the moon, and transformed into human form. I have come here to travel around and am now showing myself. And who are you guys?"

I boasted shamelessly, hoping to elicit Cao Xueqin's name, and the ghosts believed me wholeheartedly, saying, "No wonder, no wonder, it's true! Otherwise, how could it be like this?" They nodded in admiration, overjoyed. Only one ghost, dressed in Qing Dynasty attire with a queue, stepped forward and sternly questioned me, "Your account of this experience is unclear, but it sounds very familiar to me, as if I've seen it somewhere before. What magic do you possess? Why not demonstrate it so we can all submit to you?"

Unexpectedly, I encountered a serious ghost. I stepped forward and yelled at him, saying, "Hey, how strange! If I have magic powers, why would I perform for you? I'm not some fortune teller selling miracle pills in a busy market. You're neither an official nor a city management officer, what right do you have to tell me what to do? Even if I'm talking nonsense and bragging, it's not illegal or taxable. What does it matter to you whether I'm a princess of the Jade Emperor or a maid of the Queen Mother of the West? So many ghosts are surrounding me and bullying me, are you that capable? Get out of the way, don't interfere with my business." I glanced at his braid and asked, "Which emperor do you think you are?" He looked to be in his sixties, with a long robe and mandarin jacket embroidered with longevity patterns, and a large piece of jade inlaid on his melon-shaped hat. He was fat and had big ears, looking like a nouveau riche. He spoke with a strong regional accent, and I couldn't immediately recall where he was from.

See how clever I am? I didn't ask who he was, or how he died. I only asked which emperor he was. The Qing Dynasty had thirteen reigns; I could count them on my fingers. As long as he mentioned his reign title, I could make bold assumptions and carefully verify them. The emperors of the Ming and Qing dynasties were so lucky; they made studying history so easy. One emperor, one reign title, used for a lifetime. In the case of emperors from earlier times, they would change it all the time. Who could remember so many?

Oh my, I absolutely love this game.

The fat man with the braid coughed, cupped his hands in greeting, and said, "Emperor Tongzhi of the Great Qing Dynasty." I had been boasting and speaking in a very arrogant tone, and he didn't quite understand what I was saying. This made him a little wary, and his reply was not as aggressive as before.

I nodded confidently and asked, "Where is the land of immortals?"

He said, "Taigu, Shanxi."

I asked again, "What is your name?"

The old gentleman actually remembered it and said, "My surname is Fan."

I clasped my hands in greeting and said, "My apologies, so you must be the wealthy Mr. Fan. May I ask why you've stopped here?" Actually, I didn't know who he was, but I'd heard many stories over the years about Shanxi merchants who suddenly became rich in the mid-Qing Dynasty. He lived in Shanxi, dressed so elegantly, and was quite plump; he must be a very wealthy man.

The wealthy Mr. Fan was originally a plump, fair-skinned man in his sixties, with no wrinkles on his face. He was very well-preserved and looked only in his forties. But when I asked him that question, his face suddenly became full of wrinkles, making him look twenty years older. He sighed and said, "I have something on my mind, and therefore I cannot be reborn in the Pure Land."

"Of course you have unfulfilled wishes. Which ghost here doesn't?" I rolled my eyes at him and glanced at the other ghosts. They didn't laugh at him; they just sighed along with him. The wealthy Master Fan shook his head a few times before saying, "I want to know where my ancestors hid all the money they earned."

Thud! I almost fell to the ground. I thought he had some serious worries, but it turned out he couldn't find the money his father had hidden.

The wealthy Fan family, having become quite talkative, poured out their grievances to me: "My Fan family has been prosperous for over two hundred years, with so much silver that it couldn't even be stored in the cellars. But due to the annual levies on military pay, disaster relief for the Yellow River and famine, and the rebellions of the Taiping and Nian armies, we've lost more than half of it. Moreover, with a family of three or four hundred people, we've become increasingly unable to make ends meet. When I was young, I heard that my ancestors had hidden a million taels of silver in the family home. I searched every room, every hidden wall, every cellar, every vegetable cellar, wine cellar, and basement of the Fan family home, but I couldn't find it. I'm sixty years old now, and I originally planned to remarry, but the other family demanded a dowry of three hundred thousand taels. I couldn't raise the money in time, and I was so anxious and confused that while I was eating a bowl of glutinous rice balls, thinking about the hidden silver, I suddenly choked and died. Do you think I'm unjustly accused?"

I held back my laughter until my stomach ached, biting my lower lip and nodding repeatedly, saying, "Injustice, utterly injustice!" In my heart, I cursed you, you idiot! You even choked to death on a bowl of glutinous rice balls; you deserve your poor fate. Having a million taels of silver at home and not being able to find it—you're incredibly stupid! But the other ghosts didn't see it that way. They chattered amongst themselves, some saying there was no such silver at all, some saying your grandfather and father lied to you, some saying you must have misremembered, that you clearly spent it all yourself and were trying to deceive others and your family, some saying maybe you lent it to someone without a written agreement, and you can't remember, and the other party is happy to forget?