Lan He was sincere. He had met Granny Long a few times since childhood; she was a straightforward and interesting elder. In the Miao tradition, after death, souls would go to join their ancestors. However, newly deceased spirits didn’t know the way to the graves and needed a shaman to guide them.
—The usual process involved preparing the body after death, performing the guiding ritual, encoffining, mourning, patrolling, filial piety acknowledgment, funeral procession, and burial. If the ceremony was rushed, some steps would be omitted.
Lan He had heard from his grandmother that skilled shamans were now rare, and the ceremony was often simplified. Feeling a bit lonely, he pondered what he could do beyond folding paper offerings—perhaps he could help guide Granny Long on her journey.
Of course, he couldn’t say this in front of Uncle Long. Considering Uncle Long’s background in performance arts, wouldn’t he misinterpret this as an insult?
Lan He looked toward his grandmother.
His grandmother sighed. Since the family requested not to view the body for everyone’s sake, she couldn’t insist. If something really went wrong, she might not care, as she was old enough to say she had lived a full life. However, if her family caused trouble and outsiders gossiped, what would happen to the others?
She couldn’t act like an unreasonable old lady. Still, she thought quietly that folding paper offerings was necessary. She knew her grandson’s craftsmanship and planned to secretly send some offerings to her old friend.
Grandmother said, “Forget it, forget it. Kids don’t understand these things. We’ll burn some paper offerings here and I’ll talk to her during the ritual tonight.”
“You’re getting on in years; staying up late for the ritual might be too much,” Uncle Long nodded. The rituals could last two to three hours. “Just say a few words at that time. If there’s anything the family lacks, my sister’s place might have it since it’s inconvenient here.”
Grandmother’s old house in the area had been unoccupied for years, so Uncle Long was concerned about the accommodations.
“No problem, I’ll go clean it up later,” Grandmother said.
“Alright, and the two kids shouldn’t come. They might accidentally say something wrong,” Uncle Long added.
Grandmother agreed completely. During the ritual, only Miao language was allowed, and even then, certain words were taboo. Outsiders, especially Miao shamans like Ma Qinghui who brought disciples from other places, were generally not permitted to participate.
After settling the arrangements, Uncle Long led them outside to burn paper offerings.
Lan He glanced at the hall. During the vigil, coffins were usually left slightly open for relatives and friends to view the deceased. However, this time, the coffin was sealed shut, as they feared Granny Long might “see” everyone.
The hall was dim, making it hard to tell whether the deceased was in the coffin or somewhere else.
Lan He took a sniff but couldn’t detect any scent due to the distance.
“Bring out the spirits and fire paper,” Grandmother instructed. She had already prepared the offerings—a whole stack of fire paper—and sat down to burn them.
Uncle Long, seeing they were just burning paper, went to greet other relatives and friends.
Lan He used a stick to stir the ashes, his mind wandering to thoughts of Ying Shao and the others.
“Don’t poke around so much,” Grandmother said. “If you mess it up, she’ll get angry and scold you.”
“…” Lan He looked around and muttered, “You’re making things up. I don’t even see Granny Long.”
“She told me before that she hated people poking outside while burning paper,” Grandmother replied.
Lan He quickly stopped, afraid Granny Long would come to scold him.
Grandmother glanced at Song Futan. In her mind, Song Futan couldn’t understand her language or see ghosts, so she asked without concern, “Have you seen Ah Feng?”
“She might not have come to her senses yet and isn’t outside,” Lan He replied. The dead needed guidance and chanting to realize they had passed, and newly deceased spirits might still be confused.
Grandmother murmured, “Fold some cows, horses, and children for her to burn. Better include a radio; she hated being lonely. How did she pass at this hour? She loved lively crowds. Tonight, I’ll have them play the lusheng flute continuously so Ah Feng won’t feel lonely on her journey.”
Though the funeral was rushed, all available relatives and friends had gathered. Since they couldn’t go inside, they burned paper together outside.
A young girl, one of Granny Long’s descendants, came with her family to burn offerings. When she accidentally saw Lan He, her eyes widened. “Lan…Lan…”
Then she noticed Song Futan. “Susp…Susp… I…I…”
Her family, thinking she had encountered something, patted her face in a panic. “What’s wrong?”
The girl was nearly hyperventilating. As a local, she knew Lan He belonged to the city but didn’t realize he had ties to the village—and he had brought Song Futan along!
Lan He immediately recognized her reaction as that of a fan.
Just as he was about to greet her, the girl grew so flustered that she couldn’t speak. After a long struggle, she managed to squeak out a single word: “Goo!!”
Lan He and Song Futan: “…”
…Alright, another CP fan of “LanHe Couple.”
The parents: “??”
“Why is my daughter chirping like a bird now?”
The stack of ceremonial paper money brought by Lan He and the others was slowly burning out. The grandmother patted Lan He, and he nodded slightly toward the young girl. Then, with Song Futan, he helped the grandmother stand up and moved aside to have tea.
The young girl, named Long Xuemei, still needed to explain to her parents that she wasn’t bewitched by a pigeon spirit; she had merely seen a celebrity she admired.
Her parents did remember the name she had mentioned. “He looks quite refined and cultured. When you said he’s black-and-white all-encompassing, I thought you were obsessed with a gangster.”
Long Xuemei replied, “What gangster? Gangsters idolize him!”
“Alright, alright, go burn the paper offerings.”
Long Xuemei knelt down as well, murmuring about her grandaunt while burning paper money. After a few bundles, her uncle Long called her up quickly, saying young people shouldn’t kneel for too long, as the elderly wouldn’t want them to suffer.
After standing up, Long Xuemei walked over to Lan He. Considering the setting, she tried her best to keep her excitement in check. “So, um, you’re also… from this village?”
“My grandmother is. I came back for the New Year this time,” Lan He replied with a smile. Noticing her gaze darting between him and Song Futan, he could tell she was dying to ask why Song Futan was also here, probably spinning wild scenarios in her head.
Hmm, just like Liu 13…
Long Xuemei said dreamily, “I had no idea you’d bring Xuangguang Teacher back home. There was no news about it at all. Oh my God, I never thought our hometown was the same village.”
Bring Xuangguang Teacher home? I can understand that perfectly fine. Lan He couldn’t say it outright, so he just smiled. Even though this young girl was so excited, she probably couldn’t imagine that what she was shipping was real.
Song Futan added, “I wanted to see the Miao village’s culture.”
Long Xuemei exclaimed, “Oh, that’s wonderful, really wonderful…”
As for why no one knew Lan He had returned.
He had always been one of the most elusive people to photograph in the industry. First, he rarely left home, and when he did, it was usually as a spirit projection. Second, after the incident with Liu 13, Lan He learned that his name had been reported to the relevant authorities.
According to Song Futan, the authorities had a classification system and conducted evaluations. While they didn’t intervene directly, for individuals with special identities, they ensured that their whereabouts weren’t leaked. Thanks to Lan He’s good relations with Juehui Temple and Eastern Peak Temple, he received this privilege. As a result, even his flight information wasn’t accessible.
Grandmother still had some memory of the young girl. She mentioned that Long Xuemei was a descendant of the siblings of Granny Long and recalled that Lan He had met her once when she was an infant.
Long Xuemei whimpered, “Goo, so that means Brother and I grew up together.”
“What does ‘goo’ even mean?” Grandmother asked, puzzled.
Long Xuemei hesitated. “…Just a little hiccup.”
Realizing she could understand, Grandmother didn’t hold back and started asking her if she had been in the village recently. Long Xuemei admitted she hadn’t lived in the village anymore but frequently returned to collect medicinal herbs and visited her grandaunt. The straw sandals made earlier for outsiders were her handiwork. She added that her grandaunt had been in a coma most of the past two months and was mostly sleeping. She had visited a few times but only looked at the elder from afar. Her father had said that her grandaunt’s passing was also somewhat of a relief, like a white joyful event.
“She used to be so spirited,” Grandmother sighed. “But being free from illness and pain is a relief too. Nine out of ten illnesses can be cured, but there’s always one that cannot… Granny Feng.”
Grandmother turned again to the hall where the coffin was kept and murmured her thoughts.
At her age, many of her peers and friends were already gone, and her deep affection was evident. Unfortunately, Granny Long’s soul seemed still dazed and couldn’t hear the words of her old friend.
The three younger people remained silent as Long Xuemei subdued her excitement and listened to Grandmother chant softly in Miao.
…
At that moment, Lan He saw Ma Qinghui approaching with three disciples, holding a bottle of liquor.
Uncle Long immediately stopped him. “Why are you here again? I’ve already told you, you’re not welcome here, especially after chanting ghost lyrics.”
The other mourners stepped aside, whispering amongst themselves. Having seen Ma Qinghui walking around the village, they now recognized him as the son of the former Grass Witch. Moreover, he had become a Gu Master himself.
The Gu masters in the village were traditionally women, passing down their roles. Some were legitimate practitioners, while others weren’t. Given the constraints women faced in the past, male Gu masters like Ma Qinghui, who learned their skills and ventured out, were regarded as competent.
Ma Qinghui even expressed a desire to participate in the rituals and had recited ghost lyrics, which further convinced others that he had learned numerous arts beyond Gu, possibly even ghost brewing. People were cautious around him.
However, Uncle Long, whose family specialized in Miao medicine, showed him no courtesy and insisted on driving him away.
Ma Qinghui, with a stern expression, said, “I’m here to pay respects to Granny Long, not you.” Back when he lived in the village, except for the two grandmothers, no one had been kind to him. When his mother was alive, even passing villagers avoided his home, reciting anti-Gu spells as they walked by.
Uncle Long, unyielding, retorted, “Outsiders are not allowed to join. You stopped being one of us long ago. And bringing two outsiders with you, all reeking of Grass Witchcraft?”
This was Uncle Long’s domain. Though some of the younger members of his family were wary, they stood firmly on his side.
Ma Qinghui seemed to be stirred by Uncle Long’s words, as they evoked memories of the past. He was, after all, the only one bold enough to bring up such things today.
His eyes burned with a ferocious intensity, enough to make those around him uneasy.
Though Uncle Long felt awkward, he still said, “Don’t come here to harm others again. Back then, your father was killed by your mother. Even if she didn’t raise Grass Ghosts, she was cursed to harm her husband—it was her fate as a Gu woman.”
Grandmother immediately intervened. “Enough! How could you say such a thing?”
“Auntie, this boy only cares about his own peace of mind. He’s not thinking about how it might affect us. What if my mother really gets disturbed by this? He should just leave with his things. Instead, he goes around knocking on doors to invite others?” Uncle Long retorted.
There had long been a legend in the Miao village: the deceased might knock on other people’s doors at night, inviting them to join them. Such an invitation was said to lead to death for those who accepted.
Because of this taboo mentioned by the ritual Taoist, Uncle Long and the younger generation were extremely vigilant. The rest of the villagers adhered to it strictly, and even Grandmother had refrained from visiting Granny Long.
Grandmother gently persuaded Ma Qinghui, “Xiaohui, just stay here and burn some paper for Granny.”
Ma Qinghui did not show hostility toward Grandmother, but his expression darkened ominously when he turned to the others. “I’ll perform my rituals. Let’s see who can stop me tonight.”
With that, he pointed a finger at Uncle Long before leaving.
The crowd erupted in whispers. “Did you see that? He’s definitely casting a Gu spell!”
“With just a flick of his finger…”
“Does Uncle Long have his mother’s skills?”
“Did he really cast a spell?” Lan He asked Grandmother.
Grandmother replied slowly, “Not yet…” However, Xiaohui’s glare at Uncle Long was filled with unmistakable hatred.
After Ma Qinghui left, Long Xuemei approached nervously. “That scared me to death, goo…”
Lan He: “?”
Still saying “goo” at a time like this?
But Lan He quickly realized she meant “Gu.”
Long Xuemei added, “Lan He-ge, Teacher Xuangguang, you both know about Miao Gu, right? That man raises Gu insects. I even heard he brews ghosts! A lot of people are scared to offend him. Sigh, if they hadn’t started arguing, I really wanted to ask if there’s a Gu that could help me study better…”
She didn’t yet know that Lan He was already acquainted with Ma Qinghui.
Lan He responded seriously, “That’s just parasites.”
Long Xuemei: “Uh…”
She was speechless at his straightforward attitude. But then again, Lan He’s public image had always been that of a rational, non-superstitious person, with even stories of him applying makeup to a pig’s head circulating widely. Considering that his grandmother practiced Miao medicine, today’s revelation was unexpected. Then again, Lan He had grown up in the city, so it wasn’t entirely surprising.
She glanced at Teacher Xuangguang, who had come to “explore Miao culture.”
Song Futan added, “Voltaire once said, ‘Superstition is the result of fools encountering frauds.’ Seeking psychological comfort is normal, but don’t go overboard, or you might get scammed out of your money.”
Long Xuemei: “…”
The CP she adored teamed up to lecture her, leaving her wailing that she would go back and work hard on her studies instead, perhaps just spin a koi fish for luck.
…
Later, Lan He messaged Ying Shao on WeChat to confirm their accommodations. It turned out they were staying in Ma Qinghui’s old house, which had been reduced to ruins, with nothing left but broken walls. Essentially, they were camping out.
Ying Shao was dumbfounded.
Lan He suggested they stay at his grandmother’s house instead.
However, Ying Shao explained that Ma Qinghui refused, and neither he nor his two junior disciples dared to abandon their master to sleep indoors. They had no choice but to rough it out under the open sky. Moreover, Ma Qinghui was adamant about participating in the nighttime rituals.
Lan He cautioned Ying Shao: “Keep an eye on your master and make sure things don’t get out of hand.”
Ying Shao reassured him: “Understood, understood. Actually, Master just wants to send Granny Long off. He wouldn’t really harm her descendants.”
Lan He was relieved.
Their village had both Taoist priests and Miao shamans. However, the Taoists were informal, fire-dwelling priests, their knowledge passed down through generations rather than officially registered. The local religious practices blended elements of Miao traditions, Buddhism, and Taoism. Some even chanted Buddhist sutras before burning paper offerings. Whether the rituals were led by Taoists or shamans, no one minded.
In the first half of the night, Lan He stayed home making paper horses and oxen, while Song Futan recited scriptures for Granny Long. The sutras were written on paper and burned for Granny Long to help her accumulate merit.
The rituals were conducted deep into the night. Around midnight, Long Xuemei volunteered to notify them, wielding a bright flashlight. Unlike the city, the village had no streetlights; once night fell, it was pitch black.
Lan He noticed how small and frail Long Xuemei looked and said, “I’ll take her there and wait nearby.”
The three of them escorted Grandmother to the Long family’s house for the ritual.
On the way, they heard singing.
It wasn’t the faint singing and dancing coming from the Long family’s house. Instead, it was from another direction—the edge of the village. The song, unaccompanied, was a slightly hoarse male voice singing soul-guiding lyrics in Miao.
The voice echoed in the mountains. Though Song Futan couldn’t understand the words, he could sense a cold, poignant longing in the melody.
“…It’s Xiaohui,” Grandmother said after a moment.
“He didn’t go to the Long house,” Lan He noted. Despite his earlier harsh words, Ma Qinghui ultimately chose not to disrupt Granny Long’s funeral. Instead, he burned paper and sang outside his own home.
The song tugged at Lan He’s heart. He glanced at Song Futan and recited the lyrics: “The hillside is lush and green, the river’s waters ripple gently, the moon is bright, the sun shines—this is the perfect place for a soul to rest…”
Gradually, Ma Qinghui’s singing faded, replaced by the sound of reed pipes and drums from the Long family’s house.
Long Xuemei, tasked with holding the flashlight, suddenly noticed it flicker twice. She quickly shook it, and as the beam steadied, she saw what seemed like a shadow in front of the house ahead.
Her heart pounded. Recognizing the place, she called tentatively, “Uncle Jun?”
No reply.
“Must’ve been firewood,” Long Xuemei murmured, though an inexplicable chill crept up her spine.
Just as she was about to step forward, the door to the house knocked.
Thud. Thud. Thud… Thud.
Long Xuemei became entranced, counting the knocks. Each one seemed to resonate with her heartbeat, which gradually synchronized with the sound. On the fourth knock, the flashlight abruptly went dark. Startled, she felt her heart tighten. Though it was a crisp autumn evening, with cool winds blowing, sweat poured down her face like rain.
“Three knocks for a person, four for a ghost,” she thought. The superstition that nighttime knocking was the work of spirits flashed through her mind. Worse still, the figure didn’t respond to their voices, and the flashlight had died. It was as if all light had vanished, leaving only the distant sound of reed pipes. In such eerie circumstances, the lively music only heightened her fear.
Desperately shaking the flashlight, Long Xuemei heard footsteps from the doorway moving toward them. She burst into tears and ran to hide behind Lan He and the others.
Lan He, ready to shield his little fan, watched in disbelief as Long Xuemei darted behind Grandmother instead. “…”
Well, it seemed she trusted his grandmother more than her atheistic idol.
Long Xuemei’s voice cracked as she cried out, “Grandmother! It’s Granny Long, she’s here to invite us!”
Panicking, she furiously shook the flashlight, but it wouldn’t light. Switching to her phone, her trembling hands failed to activate the flashlight feature. The faint glow of the screen, however, revealed a shadow approaching them, bringing with it a palpable chill.
Grandmother hissed, “Stop saying her name! Lan He?”
Though it wasn’t the expected time for an invitation, this wasn’t the moment to overthink. With her frail limbs, she had no choice but to rely on her grandson. Normally, she wouldn’t let him meddle in such matters, but he had learned a few protective techniques from his grandfather.
Long Xuemei realized her mistake—calling the figure’s name was like inviting it closer. She grew so terrified she nearly fainted.
Lan He steadied her. “Take Grandmother and stand further back.”
Song Futan pulled out a pre-prepared talisman from his belongings and handed it to Long Xuemei. “Hold onto this.”
“What?” Long Xuemei stared at the piece of paper in her shaking hands. Using her phone’s faint light, she saw Song Futan holding a string of Buddhist prayer beads, while Lan He had a small paper figure resembling the protective talismans Miao shamans placed on doorways to ward off evil.
Through tears, she whimpered, “Didn’t you say superstition… was fools meeting frauds? You told me to rely on myself…”
“Ah, that was Voltaire,” Lan He said hurriedly. “And this isn’t superstition—it’s traditional culture.” He didn’t have time to explain further and threw the paper figure into the air.
Through tear-blurred eyes, Long Xuemei saw the paper figure’s arms and legs begin to move on their own. A fleeting thought crossed her mind: My brother isn’t just black-and-white impermanence. He’s yin-and-yang impermanence…