Chapter Twenty-Seven: Crimson Adornments

“Cold… palace… chills, the night is deep and long…”
Suddenly, a mournful voice echoed out, sounding like a tragic aria from an opera, filled with sorrow and desolation.
“How is it that someone’s singing opera in the middle of the night?” Da Zhuang exclaimed in alarm. “The theater troupe should have left days ago—who’s up there singing?”
“A ghost is singing,” Fang You replied, gripping his peachwood sword. He knew whatever lay ahead was no ordinary spirit; caution was imperative.
As the two drew closer, a grand stage loomed before them. Shadows flickered atop it, and all manner of figures performed a great drama.
“What is happening?” Da Zhuang stammered, frozen in terror by the bizarre scene.
“I am Fang You, disciple of Mount Mao. May I ask who you are?” Fang You stepped forward courteously. He had just broken through the ghostly maze this entity had set, so she must have known they were coming. Since she had not attacked, they could not act without reason.
“Xier!” Da Zhuang suddenly cried out. There, sitting on a bench before the stage, was a little boy, Xier, holding a skewer of candied hawthorn, watching the performance with delight.
“Xier!” Da Zhuang called again, desperate to retrieve his son. At that moment, Xier seemed to hear him at last and slowly turned his head, spotting his father and calling out joyfully, “Papa’s come to watch the opera too!”
“Xier!” Da Zhuang rushed forward to embrace his child, but in that instant, a pair of red hands emerged behind the boy, followed by the form of a woman.
She wore golden hairpins in her hair, her attire resplendent—a dazzling array of gold and silver jewelry spoke of noble birth.
“What do you want? Give back my son!” Da Zhuang pleaded anxiously.
“You barge into my domain with such ferocity—how rude!” the woman replied, her face darkening with anger at Da Zhuang’s insolence.
“Who are you, and why have you trapped the soul of a living child?” Fang You pressed, edging closer, his crimson peachwood sword gripped tightly, wary of a sudden attack.
“I have hundreds of servants. What can a mere wandering priest do?” the woman said coldly, caressing Xier’s cheek.
All around them, more and more shadowy figures closed in—some clad in copper armor, others wielding bows, and countless maids and servants, all ghostly, as if at any moment they would tear Fang You and Da Zhuang apart.

Fang You now understood: the woman before him had been a noble of the imperial palace, and all these maids, servants, and armored guards were her grave companions.
If it truly came to a fight, he would likely die without even knowing how.
With that realization, Fang You sheathed his peachwood sword. In such circumstances, if she grew angry, he could only hope for a dignified death.
“At least you know your place, priest,” the noblewoman remarked as she saw him lower his weapon, and the ghostly retinue gradually receded.
“You haven’t attacked us so far; perhaps you have a request?” Fang You guessed at her intentions. The ghostly maze had been a test of his abilities. With so many ghostly soldiers at her command, if she wanted to kill him, there’d be no resistance.
“You are indeed clever. An ordinary man would have been frightened out of his wits by now,” the noblewoman said, resting her hands on Xier’s shoulders as she addressed Fang You. “I do have a favor to ask. I was once the daughter of a grand minister, raised amid luxury. One day, a young man came to my father’s house.
He was talented and handsome, and by chance, affection grew between us. But I was already betrothed to the son of another official.
Unable to bear it, I made a grave decision—I planned to elope with the young man at midnight, taking all my treasures. But he never arrived.
It turned out that my betrothed ambushed and killed him on the road.
Because of my impulsiveness, the young man died before his time. I never intended to hurt anyone—otherwise, neither you nor any other priests would last a moment before me.
So what is it you want?” Fang You asked.
“I wish to be buried together with that young man. His ashes rest in the southeast corner of Bamboo Village, and his name is Qin He. My ashes are here, beneath this stage. If you can fulfill this wish, not only will I return Xier’s soul, but if you ever face danger, shout the name Tang Wan’er—if I hear you, I will come to your aid.”
Hearing this, Fang You’s anxious heart was eased. The noblewoman bore no malice, and as she said, even a group of priests would not survive if she truly meant harm.
“We disciples of Mount Mao are sworn to do good and accumulate virtue wherever we go. I will do my utmost,” Fang You agreed readily, eager both to restore Xier’s soul and to earn merit.
“In that case, I am grateful,” the noblewoman said, lifting Xier and handing him to Fang You. “I was forced to seize a living soul, only in hopes a worthy priest might come to fulfill my wish. I leave it in your hands.”

Fang You opened the oiled paper umbrella from his bundle. “All souls have their order, with spirit and essence intact. Gather the shade, draw the ghost, return swiftly—absorb!”
In an instant, Xier’s soul was drawn from the noblewoman’s hand into the oil-paper umbrella, and Fang You closed it again.
“Wait for me three days. Within three days, I will lay you and the young man to rest together,” Fang You promised quietly.
“I leave it to you then,”
The noblewoman’s figure faded away, and her ghostly attendants vanished with her.
“Now let us help Xier restore his soul.”
Fang You and Da Zhuang hurried home with Xier’s spirit. Da Zhuang’s wife, Feng, was anxiously waiting.
“Well? Did you find the boy’s soul?” she asked.
“We did, we did! When we found him, he was still watching the opera under the stage. If not for this gentleman persuading the ghost, Xier would never have come back!”
Upon hearing this, Da Zhuang’s wife almost knelt in gratitude. “Thank you for saving our child!”
“Please, don’t mention it—it was nothing,” Fang You said, quickly helping her up.
“So what now?” Da Zhuang asked.
“I will release Xier’s soul, and you must call out to him as I do.” Fang You took out the oil-paper umbrella and instructed Da Zhuang.
“Yes, yes, of course!” Da Zhuang replied obediently.