The Return of the Soul

The Return of the Soul - A Summer Night Ghost Story

Author: Blue-Purple-Green-Gray

How did I become a ghost?

I don't quite remember how I became a ghost. Memories of my past life are like a thick fog in my mind. I stumbled out of the fog, large clumps of fog swirling around me, and with each step I kicked away a wisp of white mist. The fog surrounded me, making me feel chilly. My lungs choked as I breathed, the cold air piercing my chest, pulling and tugging, stinging my nasal passages. The whole situation was just like those winter mornings when I was a child, carrying my schoolbag to school. The fog was so thick that you couldn't see anyone more than ten steps away, only the sounds of breathing, coughing, and soft muttering. The fog was pervasive, and as I walked, my hair was wet, my cheeks were icy, my hands and feet were numb, only a little warmth remained in my heart.

But now even that little bit of warmth is gone. I touched my chest, but there was no familiar beating beneath my palm. That familiarity had been with me for over twenty years, so familiar that I usually didn't even notice its existence. Only when my heart raced would I press my left chest and tell myself to calm down, to calm down.

But now it's so quiet, so quiet it scares me.

Ghosts get scared too?

I'm completely baffled. How did I end up becoming a ghost?

Wait a minute, I told myself, how do I know I'm a ghost?

I've never seen a ghost, nor have I ever been a ghost, so how do I know that I am currently a ghost?

I tried to recall, thinking about things from afar, to the very distant past, but I couldn't figure it out. My memory only went back a few minutes, when I inexplicably found myself in fog, with wisps of fog swirling around me, reminding me of going to school with my schoolbag when I was a child.

With just this much memory, where should I go?

Regarding ghosts, based on my remaining knowledge, I know they don't exist. I've said before that there are no ghosts in the world. If they did, humans have lived on Earth for hundreds of millions of years, and everyone who dies becomes a ghost, wouldn't we be living among ghosts? You'd bump into ghosts while walking, there would be ghosts when you sit down, you'd be with ghosts in bed, and you'd even encounter ghosts in the toilet.

Ugh, that's terrifying.

Some might say that when a person dies, they become a ghost, or soul, commonly known as a spirit. Ghosts are ethereal and light, so it doesn't matter if someone bumps into them. People are incredibly foolish; they never feel their body piercing through a ghost.

Perhaps some might say, "Don't ghosts go to be reincarnated after they die? Everyone rushes to be reincarnated after death, crossing the Bridge of Helplessness, drinking a bowl of Meng Po soup, looking around from the Terrace of Longing for Home, jumping off somewhere, and starting anew. All your previous learning and knowledge is wasted. All that hard work, just to drink a bowl of Meng Po soup? Isn't that a waste?"

Thinking back on the whole thing, I realized that the line "jump off somewhere and you'll be reincarnated" was something I made up. I don't know if that place even exists; I don't even know the name of such a famous scenic spot. Clearly, I made it up. Or maybe I really did jump off the Viewing-Homecoming Terrace?

Did I jump or not?

Did I drink that soup or not?

If I drank it, why do I remember so many random things? If I didn't drink it, why don't I remember the most important things?

For example, who am I? Sigh, that's a great philosophical question. I know the answer to this question, but I don't know the answer. Now I'm forced to answer it, which is really difficult for me.

For example, why did I die and become a ghost? I know I'm in my twenties, so it's more likely I died a violent death. But I vaguely feel that my heart isn't very good, so maybe I died of a heart attack?

Dying of a heart attack in one's twenties doesn't sound quite right; it's more likely that he died a violent death.

So, was I hit by a car? Caught in an elevator? Choked to death while eating? Fell to my death from a broken window after not seeing it? Wrongfully killed by a stray bullet? Drowned while swimming? Trampled to death while watching a commotion on the street? Died from the pain of childbirth? Died from overwork? Assassinated? Poisoned? Electrocuted while changing a fuse?

...

How many ways are there to die in this world?

Alas, the dead are gone, but the living can still be guided. Since they're already dead, let's not dwell on how they died. Instead, let's think about how we can make a better future here.

In this vast sea of fog, why am I the only one? No, a ghost? Where are the other ghosts? It doesn't make sense that all the ghosts have gone to reincarnate, leaving me alone to drift aimlessly as a wandering spirit. I might be willing, but the other ghosts wouldn't be, and even Yama, the King of Hell, wouldn't allow it. Isn't this disturbing public order? If every ghost were drifting like this, wouldn't the place be complete chaos?

Oh no! Chinese ghosts are under the jurisdiction of Yama, the King of Hell, but who is in charge of foreign ghosts? What if I become a foreign ghost in a foreign land, and I can't understand what they're saying?

Am I still a Chinese ghost? Still in China's ghost realm? Just like a country has airspace and sea boundaries, the ghost realm also has boundaries, right? Although studying abroad, traveling, sightseeing, and seeking knowledge in remote mountains are popular these days, one should take things one step at a time, just like a ghost. It's best to understand the situation first before going abroad for sightseeing. Anyway, I've already become a ghost, so I probably don't need a visa anymore. I can go wherever I want, so there's no rush.

Should I rush to be reincarnated, or wander around as a ghost for a while first?

Sigh, isn't that an insult? How did it happen to me out of sheer coincidence? Was it bad karma from my past life, or sins I'm committing in this one? How did I suddenly become a ghost?

After thinking for a while, I realized my situation was dire, and a wave of panic washed over me. I burst into tears. After crying for a while, I instinctively tried to wipe away my tears, but my face was dry; not a single tear remained. How could I be so helpless that I couldn't even shed tears? Thinking about this made me truly sad, and I burst into even louder sobs, heart-wrenching and excruciating.

I cried for ages, but no one, not even a ghost, paid me any attention. I had no choice but to suppress my grief and self-pity and start thinking about the future. Even though I had no tears left, I still wiped my face with my hand. It's a habit I've had for over twenty years, and it's hard to change it all at once.

I examined myself. My hair was perfectly straight, past my shoulders, and seemed to be in good condition—at least it wasn't split. I was wearing a long white robe that reached my feet; it looked new and hadn't been washed. The robe was also of good quality, thick and soft. After all my rubbing and kneading, it was practically wrinkle-free, as if it contained cotton, silk, and Lycra. Very good. I liked this robe. Although it was straight-cut with a slight flare, I could easily wear it out with a stylish belt.

Where are my feet? I glanced at them. I was wearing a pair of white cotton socks, long enough to reach almost to my calves, with ribbed cuffs. The socks weren't new; they were clearly washed, but there were no yellow stains or indelible old dirt on the soles or toes. These socks looked like they'd been washed, dried, and then washed again. What kind of conditions would lead to such a pair of socks? I know people who "nurture" jeans, not washing or ironing them for over ten years, determined to develop a second skin, but to put so much effort into a pair of socks? I'm not that crazy.

Where are my shoes? Shouldn't I have a pair of shoes? To come to a place like this barefoot in socks, really...

I touched my ears and neck again; there wasn't a single piece of jewelry, no rings on my fingers, not even a fingerprint. I was as clean as a newborn baby.

I reached down further and felt something was wrong. Why wasn't I wearing a bra or even panties under my white robe? What's going on? I'm a woman, for goodness' sake! Even if I'm dead, a female ghost, I still have some sense of shame. They didn't even give me underwear under my robe? What kind of people surround me?

Yeah, who are the people around me? And who am I? How did I end up in such a state?

Met a superstar

I wandered aimlessly, my feet barely touching the ground.

Being a ghost is really great; walking is effortless. A single thought is enough to make me "walk," and I move like the wind, brushing past the mist that covers my feet. The mist gathers and disperses beneath my feet, and I float like a fairy. Isn't this scene worth capturing? A surge of joy welled up within me, and I quickened my pace, waving my hands. I wanted to dance in this fairyland.

This body has never been so free, able to rise, fall, jump, and fly at will. I could strike a pose like a flying apsara from a Dunhuang mural, but I lack the suppleness of a waist; a mediocre "reverse-playing pipa-playing celestial musician" pose wouldn't do, as I don't have the fullness of a breast. I stroke my budding, childlike breasts, my flat waist, my slender thighs. This body is anything but beautiful.

This ordeal left me slightly out of breath. I instinctively checked my pulse—no pulse. I'd forgotten that I had no heartbeat, and therefore no pulse. So why was I still panting? Perhaps my body was automatically coordinating well, getting used to it, and I was panting as soon as I exercised? I remember that because of my heart condition, my parents never let me exercise.

Mom and Dad.

Am I slowly regaining my memories? I'm remembering my parents? Everyone has parents. Before becoming a ghost, a ghost was once human, so a ghost also has parents. And someone like me who died so young must still have parents alive. I have nowhere to go and nothing to do, so why don't I go visit them? They must be very sad that I'm dead. They say that no matter how old a child is, they're still a child in their parents' eyes. Even if I become a ghost, they won't despise me, right?

Once I made up my mind, I felt a little uneasy. First, I didn't remember where my home was, and second, I was afraid that the ox-headed and horse-faced demons would come and chain me up and take me back. I had just gained some experience as a ghost and had a goal in my ghostly life, and I didn't want to be captured so soon, fall into the cycle of reincarnation, become an infant, know nothing, and have to rely on my new parents for everything. Maybe my new parents were underage boys and girls, and if they were scared or confused, I would have to go to an orphanage; or maybe they were older adults who had drunk their fill of Western education, and would do everything according to the book, not even holding me when I cried, saying it was to exercise my lung capacity, and when I was hungry, they would take a bottle of cold milk from the refrigerator and stuff it into my mouth, saying that's how American children are raised.

Well, I think it's more reliable for me to be a ghost for a while first.

I'm going to visit my parents in the human world, taking a N-day trip between the ghost realm and the human world. These N days will see how the journey goes, whether I scare anyone, whether I disturb any demons or ghosts, and whether I can get used to life in the human world. If I don't, I'll just take a quick look and leave. While they're asleep, I'll whisper something in their ear, saying I'm fine, not suffering at all, and my health has improved. I don't need to worry about running, playing ball, or swimming anymore; some people are better suited to being ghosts. If they feel lonely, they should have another child if they can. Maybe if I stay in this remote place a little longer, I can survive until I can be their child again. If they can't have children, I'll adopt one. All my old toys, my old bed, my old textbooks with notes, my stamp and postcard collections, and my CDs and DVDs can go to her or him.

Thinking about it this way, I was deeply moved, and I almost wanted to shed tears to express my filial piety, but unfortunately, no matter how hard I tried, not a single tear came out. If there's anything wrong with being a ghost, it's that you can't always shed tears to enhance the effect, which is really a bit of a killjoy.

I blinked my dry eyes and began searching for the path to the lower realm.

Suddenly I thought of Dante's journey through the three realms. How lucky he was to have his first love, Beatrice, as his guide. This lover was forever sixteen years old, beautiful and fragrant like the Italian countryside in summer, warm and sweet, surrounded by the scent of lemon blossoms, with tiny orange blossoms adorning her "seaweed-like long hair".

And I, in white robes and white socks, treading through wisps of white mist, had no idea where to go.

I, a lone ghost, wandered through the misty plains, oblivious to hunger and thirst, weary and restless, my eyes never closing, my nights sleepless. I don't know how long I drifted, but finally, I couldn't hold on any longer and collapsed. What did I fall on? I don't know. If I had known what I could lie on, lean against, or rest on after collapsing, I would have fallen long ago. It wasn't my unwavering resolve to complete the 25,000-li Long March, nor was it for an ideal, nor was it to drink the bitter loneliness of the 365-li journey. I was simply afraid that after I fell asleep, utterly exhausted, I would drift aimlessly to who-knows-where.

Fear kept me walking, and I recited a passage I had memorized that day to encourage myself: "All day I wander beyond the Realm of Sorrow, feasting on the Fruit of Secret Love when hungry, and drinking the Water of Sorrow when thirsty. Because I have not yet repaid the kindness of your nurturing, my heart is filled with an endless, lingering sorrow. It has this heart, and thus was fortunate enough to meet the ethereal and profound Master Kongkong, and be allowed to travel to the human world. I also have a heart to repay my parents, so why can't I go?"

I'm not being arrogant or trying to compare myself to the Crimson Pearl Fairy, it's just that my current state does have some similarities.

When I woke up, I opened my eyes. The fo

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