Chapter Twenty-Eight: Shankou Village

Fang You opened the oil-paper umbrella, and in an instant, a beam of white light burst forth!

Da Zhuang immediately shouted from the side, "My son, come back! My son, come back! Xi'er, come back!"

Calling the soul by a loved one is the most effective; the closer the kin, the stronger the pull. Only in this way can the scattered soul return, drawn by the bonds of family and affection, finding its way back to those it cannot bear to leave behind.

After Da Zhuang called a few times, the white light Fang You had just released darted straight back into Xi'er's body!

Moments later, a glimmer of spirit returned to Xi'er’s eyes. Seeing her parents beside her, she called out in confusion, "Father? Mother?"

"My child has come back! This is wonderful!" Da Zhuang and his wife held Xi'er in their arms, weeping tears of joy.

Fang You, not wishing to disturb this hard-won reunion, recalled the words of the female ghost and quietly set off alone toward the southeastern corner of Shanzhu Village.

According to the lady of the house, the young man’s grave was buried there.

Sure enough, at the farthest edge, he saw an ancient, weathered tombstone, inscribed: "The Grave of Ancestor Qin He."

Over the next two days, Fang You not only unearthed Qin He's ashes and the remains of Lady Tang Wan’er, but also chose a new, auspicious burial ground for them. With his own funds, he erected a new stone monument: "Joint Tomb of Zou He and Tang Wan’er."

As the tombstone was set in place, a gentle voice echoed out of nowhere: "Thank you, little Daoist, for your kindness."

Fang You simply smiled and nodded.

With this matter settled, Fang You returned to his fortune-telling parlor. Yet as he approached, he saw Officer Zhang Shengnan from the Ninth Division of the Paranormal Investigation Unit already waiting for him at the door.

Fang You was puzzled and approached her, asking, "What’s going on? Did you come to watch the shop for me since I was out?"

"You're finally back! Enough joking—come with me, quickly!" Zhang Shengnan said, pulling Fang You toward the police car.

"Wait a moment! At least tell me what happened!" Fang You was thoroughly confused.

"It's like this," Zhang Shengnan explained. "In Shankou Village, a household lost four people in three days—all looked like suicides. Some hanged themselves, some threw themselves into fire, and one woman even strangled herself with her own hands!"

She could barely conceal her lingering fear.

"Strangled herself with her own hands?" Fang You immediately sensed something was wrong. Normally, it's impossible for a person to strangle themselves to death—our survival instincts are too strong. Hunger drives us to find food, thirst drives us to seek water. When it comes to self-strangulation, even setting feasibility aside, the body’s instincts would cause one to let go before death.

Anyone can test this—try pressing your hands to your throat; as you reach a certain point, your brain will force your hands to release. It's simply not possible for a person to commit suicide in this way.

"What on earth happened?" Fang You pressed further.

"We got a call about a suicide at a house in the village. At first, it was just one person. By the time we arrived, two were dead. As we began our investigation, the third person killed themselves, and the fourth died right before our eyes—like they'd gone mad. We couldn't stop them," Zhang Shengnan recounted, her face pale as if she’d been truly terrified.

"Take me there at once!" Fang You forgot about rest and hurried with Zhang Shengnan to the scene.

They got into the police car and drove for about an hour, stopping at a village nestled deep in the mountains.

"This is the place," Zhang Shengnan said, parking the car and getting out with Fang You.

From afar, they could hear the commotion in the village, as if something lively was happening.

As they approached, the veteran officer Zhou Shen was already waiting outside a house, a child of seven or eight years old in his arms. Zhou Shen himself looked exhausted, clearly worn out by the recent events.

"Fang You is here," Zhang Shengnan said, leading Fang You over. Zhou Shen managed a weary, polite smile. "Little Daoist, you’ve come."

"And this is…?" Fang You gazed at the little girl, a sense of foreboding rising within him.

"I believe Zhang Shengnan has told you most of it. This family of five lost four members in three days, only this little girl remains. No matter what, we must keep her safe," Zhou Shen said, his exhaustion evident—he likely hadn't slept for days.

If, as Zhang Shengnan said, the last person had killed themselves right before their eyes, it would have shaken anyone.

"I understand. Let me take a look." Fang You examined the house. Faint black mist curled around the doorframe—this family must have suffered from ill fortune for some time.

On closer inspection, the four bodies were laid out in order on the floor, covered simply with straw mats.

The deaths were harrowing: one had burned themselves, one had hanged themselves, one had drowned, and one had strangled herself—a truly ghastly sight.

Fang You studied the bodies, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary on the surface.

Zhang Shengnan approached and asked if Fang You had noticed anything.

Fang You scrutinized the scene, then turned and said slowly, "I can’t see anything amiss as it stands. We may have to summon the souls to question them."

"Summon the souls?" Zhang Shengnan asked curiously.

"Yes," Fang You replied. "It means calling back the souls of the deceased, returning them to their bodies, and then questioning them. But usually, after death, souls move on to the next life. Whether they’re willing to return and tell us anything, I can’t say. If their rebirth is delayed, who knows how long they’ll have to wait for the next cycle."

"Does this young Daoist truly possess such a strange art?" An elderly man stepped from the crowd. "I am Village Head Hao—if you indeed have this ability, why not let us all witness it?"

"Everyone, show respect and do as the Daoist says," Zhou Shen interjected. In times like this, basic courtesies must be observed.

Seeing Zhou Shen give him such support, Fang You could not refuse. He spoke up, "I’ll need twelve long incense sticks, four bowls of black rooster’s blood, a small pinch of cinnabar, and four bowls of white rice."

"Could it be we’ve truly found a master?"

"He speaks with such certainty—can he really summon the dead?"

"The Wang and Ge families died such terrible deaths, yet they still have a daughter left in this world. If he doesn’t call back their souls for answers, how will they rest in peace?"

"Everyone, quiet down," the village head said. "We’ll prepare these things immediately. Little Daoist, please rest for now."

"Have everything ready before nightfall," Fang You instructed.