A woman, holding her daughter in her arms, asked tentatively, “Master Red-Hair, there’s no land tax here, but is there still a tax on people?”
The red-haired ghost gave an impatient grunt. “You lot are already spirits of the underworld. What people tax could there possibly be?”
The villagers erupted in a flurry of voices. Some even wept aloud, cursing their misfortune. Some lamented to have been born too soon and died too early, leaving their wives and children to starve.
“Master! Master!” they cried again and again. “If even the people tax is exempted, then what about forced labour?”
“Forced labour?” Red-haired ghost shook his head violently, exasperated. “None of that, none of that.”
“What about land tax, business tax, housing tax, fishery tax……?”
“Are you here to recite the scriptures?” Red-Hair barked, hopping mad. “No! No taxes of any sort! My lady doesn’t collect anything!”
A gust of wind blew, scattering the light souls like dandelion fluff. Only the old village chief remained unmoved.
The villagers drifted about, all talking at once, scarcely able to believe it. “No forced labour, no collection of taxes. How does Her Ladyship survive, then?”
“Indeed, indeed, how does she survive?”
“Could Her Ladyship be an unfortunate soul too?”
The murmuring so inflamed Red-Haired Ghost that he puffed out his cheeks and leapt three feet into the air, eyes wide. Fortunately, Xue Cuo pulled him back just in time.
The old village chief turned, clasped his hands and bowed deeply to Xue Cuo, then to the red-haired and green-haired ghosts. “Masters, begging your forgiveness. I am Li Shouyi of Xiantian Village. Might I ask how the two of you are addressed?”
Green-Hair replied “What ‘Masters’? We’re nothing but two vases on Her Ladyship’s altar. Her most beloved little treasures.”
Red-Hair added cheerfully, “Exactly! The most beloved!”
Green-Hair butted in again. “There are thousands of empty homes in this city, all ownerless. Take whichever you like, just don’t come bothering us ghosts.”
Li Shouyi’s eyes widened, and his voice broke with excitement. “You’re even giving us the houses?”
Red-Hair looked around at the decayed ghost city and answered gruffly, “That’s right. Aside from the Spirit Tribunal, the Inquiry Tower, and the Gazing Terrace, the rest is yours for the taking.”
The courtyard fell into a stunned silence.
Then, all at once, the villagers dropped to their knees and began kowtowing in unison. Red-Hair stared in bewilderment and slowly crept behind Xue Cuo, muttering darkly, “Da-ge*, those ghosts are giving me the look. I swear they want to eat me alive.”
Green-Hair replied, “Er-ge*, such is the fate of dashingly handsome ghosts like us. Always attracting the wrong kind of attention.”
(*TN: Da = big or eldest, Er = two or second)
Xue Cuo gave the two of them a look, then solemnly cupped his fists and said with great sincerity, “The two uncles truly have…… handsome features.”
The red-haired and green-haired ghosts beamed with pride, nearly bursting with joy.
Meanwhile, Li Shouyi and the rest of the villagers were already bustling off to their new homes. The entire group surged into the ghost town, shouting with delight despite their deaths.
“Grandpa! Grandpa! Wait for me to go with you!”
Xue Cuo leapt up, trying to slip away in the commotion. But his short legs couldn’t get him far. Before he could make a proper escape, Red-Hair caught him in his arms. All Xue Cuo could do was watch, eyes wide with despair, as Li Shouyi vanished into the ash-grey, shadow-black, bone-white landscape of the ghostly city.
Red-Hair supported him under the arms, while Green-Hair gave a firm nudge to his lower back. One ghost on either side, both smiling like spring flowers.
“Young Master, Her Ladyship instructed that once you arrived, we were to escort you straight to the main hall.”
“Not going, not going!”
“Come, come now~”
“Eh, uncles, we’ve only just arrived. Why not take a little stroll first? I can look around on my own.”
Green-Hair shook his head solemnly. “Can’t, can’t. Her Ladyship said: a cooked duck can’t fly away.”
At that, Xue Cuo’s heart sank. He clung to the doorframe with all his strength, even baring his teeth as if to gnaw on it. He said to himself: That petty goddess must be planning to show her true form and devour me alive!
Green-Hair gave a few tugs, but Xue Cuo wouldn’t budge. He scratched his head… then simply wrenched the entire doorframe off! Together, they hoisted Xue Cuo like a palanquin and carried him off toward the grand hall.
Xue Cuo, teeth clenched, was filled with tragic resolve.
He swore to himself: if that goddess would be courteous enough and swallow him whole, then it’d be better. He’d suffer less that way. But if she planned to slice him up slowly and marinate him first, then he would curse to the high heavens and die fervently!
Though the ghost city lay in ruins, the Spirit Tribunal was slightly more intact.
Its front courtyard stretched long and low; the main compound was square and spacious, ringed by colonnades. In the centre stood a lofty audience hall, modelled like a magistrate’s court. Statues of stone deities flanked the entry on either side, appearing archaic, sombre, and grand. Yet like the stone lions at the gate, all of them were missing their heads.
Upon arriving at the statues, Red-Hair finally put down an the broken doorframe. “Young Master, the grand hall is just ahead. We have to trouble you to walk the rest of the way yourself.”
By this point, Xue Cuo no longer felt any fear. Death was death. He might as well see what tricks this goddess had up her sleeve.
Xianghuo Dao was the most treacherous and arcane. It preyed upon mortal hearts. In recent years, several newly risen Xianghuo Divine Dao kingdoms had been eradicated by the cultivation world. The mortals rescued from those places were shrivelled husks, blood drained dry, their bodies unrevivable, their minds lost. All they could do was kneel and bow before clay idols, again and again.
Xue Cuo’s hatred of Xianghuo Divine Dao gods stemmed from such scenes witnessed with his own eyes. And yet he couldn’t help but wonder: what of the immortal sects? Why did so many mortals seem to prefer death over life?
The turmoil in his heart surged and crashed like waves. He consoled himself: Don’t let one case taint your view of all your fellow cultivators.
Face taut with solemnity, he stepped through the door. A thin layer of dust coated the floor. With no breeze, the dust stirred itself, whirling like a spirit.
Red-Hair and Green-Hair stood before the statue, expressions sorrowful. “Ol’ gege, how could dust fall upon you?”
Red-Hair dabbed at his eyes. “Quick, fetch water. We mustn’t let gege be sullied by dust.”
Xue Cuo walked on a little further and glanced back. The two ghosts were murmuring at the base of the statue, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying.
He quietly turned around, surreptitiously beginning to draw talismans.
But there was no paper or ink at hand. So he crept over to the magistrate’s desk, found up a nearly bald brush, and dug out a book whose pages were yellowed and nearly bare.
Eyes sharp with murderous intent, Xue Cuo began to scribble with determination. He, the Junior Talisman God of Liuyun Peak, would not sit still waiting for death!
As he drew, he realised something strange.
“Where did that name come from?”
“Li Ergou.”
“Zhu Wang.”
“Zhong Xiaoshuang.”
……
Xue Cuo’s brows were furrowed, but to his astonishment, he found himself unable to control the brush. The bald-tipped brush began to move on its own, swiftly scribbling names across the pages, one after another, rapid as flowing water. There must have been over a hundred.
He looked up and scanned around. “Lady Goddess?”
No answer came. The courtroom remained utterly still.
Just then, funeral paper began to fall from the sky. It started off light and scattered, but slowly, the flurry thickened.
Xue Cuo could not let go of the brush, nor could he channel his spiritual energy. Panic gave way to rage. With a hard gulp of resolve, he threw himself into the high-backed magistrate’s chair. “What is it you want to do?!”
Duoh—
Xue Cuo thought he heard the sound of the Great Loch, its waters flowing slow and deep.
From the moment he sat in the hall, the quiet Spirit Tribunal began to change. Visions flared before his eyes.
He saw a mound of coffins heaped into a mountain, its soil blackened by sacrificial blood. He saw labourers crushed by falling boulders as they built towering altars, their blood spraying like fountains. He saw infants in red and green garments tossed into a lake; at the bottom, shoals of fish and shrimp squirmed among a forest of white bones.
The scenes were foreign, unfamiliar—wretched and terrible.
And at the end of each, the vision returned to that black Great Loch, where white funeral paper drifted down from the heavens like rain.
Xue Cuo’s entire body trembled. His head throbbed violently, and he clutched his small hands to his chest. “Stop it!”
But the brush remained unmoved by his cries. It went on writing, name by name, each stroke sharp as a blade, carving into the page with uncanny force.
Sweat poured from his brow. The ceaseless barrage of images left him writhing in agony. His chubby little hands were pale as bone, the skin at his fingertips beginning to seep blood.
Just as he was reaching his limit, the bald brush finally came to a halt.
Xue Cuo was drenched with sweat. He looked down to find the book turning pages on its own, fluttering, as if whipped by an invisible wind. Every single page was filled with names. There were thousands.
Dazed and light-headed, Xue Cuo found himself staring at the glittering Great Loch.
Upon it floated a magnificent pleasure barge, exquisitely painted. At its centre, a Daoist cultivator sat in meditation, clad in green robes, his face handsome and serene.
Next to him, a sickly youth sat slouched in ornate clothing. His back was covered in a swarm of dense, inky-black little people.
Xue Cuo squinted.
All of a sudden, those little people twisted their necks and turned to face him. Their swarming white eyes made Xue Cuo start in fright. Then they began to crawl all over the sickly youth, emitting cries that sounded somewhere between oxen and birds. Miserable, resentful, full of anguish. The sound gripped Xue Cuo with a sorrow he could not name.
……
Xiaofeng opened his eyes, glanced toward the sky, and murmured, “Even the ghost-subduing talisman can’t hold them down anymore… It appears that the grudge must be profound.”
Beside him, Prefect Li was struck by a sudden gust of cold wind and clutched his aching head. Seeing his son foaming at the mouth, he pleaded, “Immortal Master, is it not time yet?”
Xiaofeng frowned and took a few paces, sword on his back. “It’s not yet noon. There’s no celestial on duty right now. Even if I burn the talisman, it’ll be no use.”
Prefect Li’s expression darkened. Magistrate He, who had gone out to borrow a great span of life, could not afford even a hair’s breadth of error. With a sycophantic smile, he said, “Let’s wait a little longer. Lord Prefect, a quarter of an hour won’t make or break your son.”
Prefect Li gave a heavy snort. Then Xiaofeng said, quite suddenly, “The hour has come.”
The two men held their breath, not daring to make a sound.
At Xiaofeng’s command, the three sacrificial beasts and nine ritual offerings were made ready. Only then did he begin burning the talisman.
This was a petition to the Division of Lifespan, inscribed with the cause and consequence, the offerings given by the one borrowing time, and the sect and lineage of the one sending the request.
Xue Cuo saw the densely packed names on that talisman which were almost identical to the ones he had just written.
As the blue talisman burned to ash, it transformed into a blue official missive and floated upwards, flying into the heavens.
Xue Cuo watched it go. Abruptly, he felt a tug in his heart. He reached out—and caught it.
The blue missive surged upward, and with it, Xue Cuo too was lifted into the air. He hurriedly hooked his foot under the table and held on tightly to the document, qi sinking into his core as he strained with all his might.
At that moment, Red-Hair and Green-Hair arrived carrying water.
“Uncles!” Xue Cuo cried. “Come quick, help me!”
The two ghosts looked up to see Xue Cuo being carried toward the rafters. They rushed over and seized him, dragged downwards with all their strength.
Xue Cuo’s face was contorted with effort, his cheeks flushed a deep purplish red.
“PULL!”
The two ghosts gritted their teeth and yanked together. The blue official letter had never encountered such resistance. Even the talisman-maker had not foreseen this situation. The scroll trembled up and down, struggling to break free, yet inch by inch, it began to descend.
“Keep pulling.” Xue Cuo was still bracing himself when suddenly his eyes went wide with horror. He kicked his legs wildly. “Uncles! Don’t pull my trousers!”
RIIIP—
The official missive and Xue Cuo came crashing down together.
Xue Cuo scurried behind the magistrate’s desk, cheeks red with shame, fastening his trousers.
Red-Hair leaned in with a whisper. “There’s a huge slap mark on his bum.”
Green-Hair replied gruffly: “You’ve no sense of propriety at all. Is that something you say out loud? Lower your voice!”
Xue Cuo’s face went bright red. Then dark as storm clouds.
……
Xiaofeng stared at the sky. He’d watched the blue missive float upwards, then vanished midway through its flight.
He was thoroughly bewildered.
