Chapter Thirty-Eight: Pity the Bones by the Wayside—Who Will Deliver Them from Suffering?

Outside the borders, beyond the Xuan Town, just outside the city of Shuo Prefecture.

Wild grass grew thick and unkempt over the burial mounds, as Liaochen now led Yunhua and Yunhuzi through this desolate graveyard. Bones lay exposed to the elements—these poor souls had not even received the bare dignity of being laid to rest. Their remains, scattered amid the tangled weeds, endured the wind and rain day after day.

“Master, what are we looking for? Can’t we go back now?” Even in broad daylight, Yunhua could hardly bear the sight of so many scattered bones and neglected graves.

“This is the place,” Liaochen said, stopping before a shattered skeleton. He murmured a blessing for the departed, then took out a bone urn and began to gather the remains. The marks of teeth upon the bones told a silent tale of suffering. The remains lay scattered; it took Liaochen most of the day to collect a complete skeleton.

“Let’s go,” he said, lifting the urn.

“Master, who was this?” Yunhua asked curiously.

“A pitiful soul. A son for whom his grieving mother still waits,” Liaochen replied, his voice tinged with sorrow. As a monk, he had learned to accept life and death, but the passions of the human heart were not so easily set aside. If the path to enlightenment meant feeling nothing, then would not the pursuit of immortality turn one into mere stone? At least, Liaochen himself could not accept that.

“And what about the others? Is there no one waiting for them?” Yunhua thought of her own mother, asleep at the bottom of the lake. If not for her master, who would help souls like hers?

Liaochen paused, then sighed. “Indeed. To save others is to save oneself. Since fate has brought me here, I must do what I can.” With that, he added, “Let’s go buy what we need and return tomorrow.”

A few days later, several thatched huts appeared at the edge of the graveyard. Bone urns were piled outside. Every morning, two Daoists—one tall, one small—would go out to collect bones and place them in urns, setting them on the ground before the huts. Dozens each day, the urns soon filled the entire yard. In time, people took notice. The townsfolk began to talk; some even came to see who dared live beside the burial grounds and gather the bones of strangers. Liaochen and Yunhua paid them no mind. Two months passed, and at last, no more bones lay exposed across the wild field. In all, four thousand one hundred and seventy-eight urns stood before the huts, an awe-inspiring sight.

The Ghost Festival of the seventh month approached, when the gates of the underworld were said to open. People bustled about the city, buying incense and paper money to honor their ancestors and give offerings to wandering spirits, sending lanterns floating down the river. That day, Liaochen and Yunhua bought a great supply of incense and paper money in the city, returning to the huts to prepare for the evening’s rites.

“Yunhua, take this letter to the prefect’s office, and hurry back,” Liaochen instructed. He turned to the fox sleeping on the bed and said, “And as for you, Yunhuzi—behave yourself. Don’t think I don’t know you sneak out every night. Perhaps you’re not afraid of ordinary ghosts, but if you meet something fiercer, see if you can find your way back! This is a burial ground—not all the spirits here are lonely and harmless. Some are the executed wicked. If they catch you and devour your soul, don’t come crying to me—I won’t be able to save you.” With that, he ignored the fox’s feigned sleep and began drawing talismans, leaving Yunhuzi to cast nervous glances his way, clearly cowed by the warning.

That day, the prefect of Shuo Prefecture was also busy preparing offerings for his ancestors. Though he could not return home to tend their graves, the rites could not be neglected. Just then, the steward hurried over with a letter. “Master, a young Daoist brought this to the gate, insisting you open it yourself. She said I’d be held responsible if there was any delay, and left at once. It seemed odd, so I brought it straight here.”

“Oh?” The prefect found it strange. He opened the letter, and his face changed at once. “Quickly—send word to all the bailiffs still on duty. Find everyone. Announce to the whole city: there will be a strict curfew tonight. No one, for any reason, is to set foot outdoors after dark. The consequences are on their own heads.” He added, “Go, at once.”

On the Ghost Festival, it was customary for the people to float river lanterns. A sudden curfew would stir resentment if not explained. So, setting aside his own affairs, the prefect took a few attendants and rode out to the burial grounds. Truth be told, he had never visited such a place before—such places were, after all, considered “unclean.” He would never admit it, but as a learned man, he still harbored a healthy fear of ghosts and spirits. From afar, he saw the thatched huts, with bone urns piled outside. Unfamiliar with these, he asked an attendant, “What are those?” The attendant replied, “Bone urns, sir—to hold the bones of the dead.” A chill ran through the prefect. He hoped that, in broad daylight, no spirits would dare appear, and that the presence of a true Daoist would keep evil at bay.

Before he could approach, a Daoist emerged from the hut—wearing a seven-star crown, a robe embroidered with trigrams, and cloud-patterned boots, the very image of a sage, save for his youthful features.

“Blessings upon you, Prefect, honored to meet you,” Liaochen called from afar. The prefect quickly alighted and bowed, but Liaochen hastened to raise him. “We recluses care little for formalities, Prefect; there’s no need.” He spoke sincerely, but the prefect dared not take him at his word.

After exchanging pleasantries, the prefect brought up the matter of the river lanterns. After all, it was a tradition of a thousand years, and the people would need an explanation. Liaochen smiled, gesturing at the urns. “Tonight the gates of the underworld open wide. I wish to take this chance to help these poor souls find peace. Only by burial can they rest. Spirits left to wander the wilds cannot reincarnate. I hope to guide them on, and prevent vengeful ghosts from harming the living. There are over four thousand here. My rites may draw many wandering souls nearby. To avoid conflict between the living and the dead, it is best that the townsfolk remain inside tonight—lest they be frightened or encounter misfortune.” He paused, then added, “As for the river lanterns, the people may prepare a basin of clear water at home, with offerings of food and incense, lit before the third watch, and place the lanterns in the basin. I will set them afloat on their behalf. In this way, the whole city may gain merit.”

The prefect, much relieved, said, “Then I shall explain it to the people just so.”

Liaochen waved his hand. “That will do. Only remember: do not let anyone go out tonight.”

The prefect nodded and took his leave, not lingering in such an unsettling place.

That afternoon, the city was filled with bailiffs beating gongs and announcing: “The Imperial Daoist will perform rites tonight to deliver wandering spirits outside the city. To avoid disturbing them, none must leave their homes after dark. If you have river lanterns, prepare a basin of clear water, place the lanterns within, and set out offerings and incense before the third watch—this will ensure peace.” The city was abuzz. The timid locked their doors before sunset, praying for safety. Neighbors followed suit. A few bold and curious youths itched to sneak out and watch, but their families quickly locked them inside. Before nightfall, the streets were deserted—the city as empty as if abandoned.

That evening, the prefect returned home, instructing his household to prepare a large basin of clear water, offerings, and incense. He set several servants to watch in the courtyard, then gathered his family indoors for comfort. He even fetched a Buddhist statue from his wife’s room for extra protection, and, thus prepared, waited for night to fall.