Chapter Thirty-Nine: A Lone Lamp Illuminates the Road Home; The Wandering Soul Finally Returns

The bright moon hung high in the sky while cold crows flew across the night. In front of the thatched hut, Liaochen lit forty-nine ever-burning lamps and set up the altar.

Ghostly fires flickered uncertainly over the mass grave under the night’s shadow. Yunhua had encountered spirits before, but these wavering blue flames, dancing with every gust of wind, made her shudder despite herself. Seeing ghosts was one thing, but facing them head-on was quite another. Even knowing her master was there and she need not fear, she still couldn't help but wish to hide under the covers like a fox. Nevertheless, she forced herself to stand behind Liaochen. After all, if a cultivator is afraid of ghosts, how can they hope to walk the path?

Liaochen’s spirit sea was clouded and his powers depleted. To perform the ritual, he had to first invite the gods from all directions. In the Daoist rites for liberation, one must first pass through the Underworld, then pay respects to Lady Pingxin, and finally invoke the Great Lord of Supreme Salvation. Standing behind the altar, Liaochen gently lifted a talisman with his peachwood sword and intoned, “Spirits of the Underworld, heed my command. Wandering gods of day and night, guard my left and right. By urgent decree!” He then burned the talisman in the candle flame and scattered a handful of white rice. A chill wind swept the altar, and two indistinct shadows appeared on either side of it. Liaochen had called them first to guard against any malicious spirits—protectors by his side before the main rite began.

“Disciple Liaochen now borrows the soldiers of the underworld—array yourselves before me and await my command.” He burned another talisman, sending word to the underworld, requesting their spectral troops to suppress the restless souls.

A cold wind rose across the graveyard and the moonlight seemed to dim. Far in the distance, an indistinct procession began to drift closer. At its head was a figure far more substantial than the shadows behind—a ghostly general. Even Liaochen was surprised. He’d called for underworld soldiers, yet the underworld had sent a ghost general to lead them. Since when was the realm of spirits so respectful?

Unbeknownst to Liaochen, his escapades at the Northern Dipper Palace had already made him a minor celebrity across the Three Realms. Coupled with his status as a distant disciple of the Lord of Eastern Radiance, the underworld dared not offend him.

The ghost general led the troops to the altar and bowed to Liaochen, who nodded in return. Producing a stack of paper, Liaochen bit his finger and pressed a bloody seal onto each sheet, chanting, “By blood I forge my spirit coins—ten, hundred, thousand, myriad, all pass through the netherworld.” With that, he scattered the papers, which turned into golden sparks midair. A stir went through the underworld soldiers. The ghost general was quick, gathering the golden light into his arms, and addressed the restless soldiers in ghostly speech. They instantly fell silent. Turning back, the ghost general bowed deeply. “Thank you, Master.”

“Form ranks,” Liaochen replied with a smile. “At your command,” the ghost general responded, and the soldiers split into two lines on either side of the altar.

“Yunhua, the ritual bell.” Liaochen held out his hand. Yunhua quickly handed him a purple-gold bell.

“Summon the wandering souls! A hundred ghosts assemble! Open the gates of the underworld! Come at once, by urgent decree!” Liaochen rang the bell. Its clear, pleasing chime rang out, and a sudden chorus of wailing burst forth across the grave mound. The ghostly fires, as if drawn by an invisible force, began drifting toward Liaochen.

“Lost bones as the guide, I summon you, wandering souls! The lamps light your way—come quickly, by command!” Raising his peachwood sword, Liaochen scooped a handful of white rice from the altar’s urn and scattered it before the altar. As the rice fell, the wind howled across the graveyard. Lonely souls from miles around, like young swallows returning to their nest, gathered from far and wide. The air was thick with restless spirits. Even in the distant city of Shuozhou, the roaming ghosts began to gather in flocks, heading toward the grave mound. The city’s streets filled with eerie noises and ghostly cries, terrifying the townsfolk hiding indoors, making them tremble in fear. The chaos lasted half an hour before peace returned. The people sheltering at home remained unharmed, but some young scions of powerful families, heedless of warnings, happened upon passing spirits. Though the spirits merely passed by, the living were so frightened that their own vitality was depleted, their souls unsettled—some would later fall gravely ill, and for a few, the consequences would be fatal. But that is another tale.

Among the countless spirits Liaochen summoned were, of course, the souls of the four thousand dead whose bones filled the ossuaries. Liaochen leapt over the altar, bell in one hand, peachwood sword in the other. Stepping in the pattern of the Northern Dipper, he passed before each of the forty-nine lamps, calling, “The lost bones are here—come forth! All other souls, stand back!”

He planted the peachwood sword among the lamps, formed a ritual seal with one hand, and chanted incantations. From the ranks of distant, indistinct spirits, several emerged, flying straight into the ossuaries. These were the souls belonging to the bones inside.

With the souls recovered, Liaochen breathed a sigh of relief and turned to instruct Yunhua, who was pale with fear. “Three sticks of incense for Heaven, three for Earth, and spirit money for a safe passage.”

Yunhua hurriedly lit three sticks of incense, bowed three times to the sky, then three times to the earth, and cast a great pile of spirit money into the wind. The paper money fluttered through the air, causing a commotion among the distant ghosts, fighting over the offerings. Liaochen paid them no heed, only watched as Yunhua scattered the spirit money until it was all gone.

“Payment delivered—depart at once!” Liaochen raised the peachwood sword and called to the distant ghosts, but many lingered. He turned his gaze to the ghost general. The general bellowed an unearthly cry, and the underworld soldiers surged forward in a gust of wind, driving off the lingering spirits in panic. The ghosts, realizing the Daoist meant business, scattered in all directions. Once the restless spirits had dispersed, Liaochen finally felt at ease and turned his attention to the ossuaries. Now the task remained to guide the dead to peace, and to send that old woman’s son home across a thousand miles, so he might appear in her dreams as she still waited by the oil lamp.

The ghost general and soldiers soon returned, standing silent and unmoving at either side.

“Name: Hong Kangyuan. Born at the hour of the dragon, third day of the ninth lunar month, first year of Chenghua, year Yi You. Died at the hour of the pig, ninth day of the fifth month, fourteenth year of Hongzhi, year Xin You. Father: Hong Yuan. Mother: Lady Hong Li, Jade Osmanthus. A mother awaits her son’s return—appear at once!” Liaochen picked up the soul-summoning bell, ringing it with a shout.

From within the ossuary, sobbing erupted. A ghostly figure, the likeness of a middle-aged man, knelt before Liaochen and kowtowed repeatedly. Liaochen sighed. “The ties of life are ended—man and ghost walk separate paths now. Your mother offered half a tael of lamp oil for your return, and the light has nearly run out. I have found you for her. Go see her one last time. After this, you and your mother will be forever parted by the realms of life and death. Cherish your journey to the next life.”

He took a lantern from behind the altar. “I will send you home, to appear in her dreams one last time. Should you fail to return with the dawn, you will lose forever the chance at rebirth—remember this well.”

With that, Liaochen ignored the weeping ghost, returned to the altar, raised the peachwood sword, and burned a talisman, chanting, “Heaven’s gate opens—grant me safe passage. A loving mother longs for her son—show him the way home. Disciple Liaochen, with this talisman, walks the path of Heaven. I beg the celestial soldiers for safe passage—by urgent decree!”

At his chant, the lantern floated upwards, and the ghost, drawn by its light, followed it into the sky. Liaochen turned to the two wandering gods at his side and bowed. “I trouble you both to escort this soul.” They said nothing, but rose into the air, standing on either side of the lantern.

“Let the clear wind bear you home.” Liaochen recited an incantation and struck a talisman, releasing a gentle breeze. The lantern drifted away with the wind and soon vanished into the vast night. Liaochen watched it go, let out a long breath, and stood before the altar, waiting for the ghost’s return, ready to send the remaining souls on their way to the underworld and their next turn in the wheel of reincarnation.