Chen Xu walked through the bustling crowd, examining one stall after another.
Every now and then, shadows laughed beside him, and the occasional scream seed distant.
Paper lanterns swayed, whispering shadows of light.
He looked up at the pallid moonlight above, the moon high in the sky, with no sign of setting.
Yet, Chen Xu had no intention of wasting more ti. He had perused most of the stalls and found that each stall invariably had a few items with word prompts appearing.
Such as: [Tears of Resentful Ghosts, containing Nine Nether Grudge, when dripped into a carefully prepared soup, can emit a peculiar fragrance that intoxicates ghosts.]
[Forgetfulness Mushroom, a wild fungus by the Yellow Springs road, when cooked, can cause all living and dead beings to lose all emotional fluctuations within a quarter of an hour.]
[Blood Wedding Dress, the skin from the chest of a young bride who hanged herself, when calcined and ground into powder, can increase the ghost’s grudge...]
Most items had a distinctive Ghost Market feature, yet it was hard for Chen Xu to discern their true value.
He initially intended to select the Tears of Resentful Ghosts directly, but turning around, he discovered an interesting word prompt at one of the stalls.
[Defective Bone Mirror, made from Flood Dragon Bone, can reveal a person’s inner doubts once, and when the bone is ground into powder and cooked, it can moderately heal internal and external injuries of humans and demons.]
This Bone Mirror, though defective, was surprisingly dual-purpose!
Chen Xu was in need of sothing to heal his wounds, so he imdiately approached the stall and chose the palm-sized, ghostly white Bone Mirror.
From behind the stall, a hoarse shadowy voice spoke: "Custor, this item cannot be bought with ordinary poems. At least blue smoke must rise, otherwise, you shall pay with two arms, two legs, and a pair of eyes."
"Do you... still wish to buy it?" The shadow slightly swayed, as if lifting its hollow head.
Ink on paper, a work of blue smoke!
It’s simple to speak of, but how difficult it truly is.
For all the years Chen Xu studied in Jichuan County, he had never seen anyone write a masterpiece that conjured smoke from paper.
Of course, the premise of ink-paper smoke is the original script, the original work; it cannot be effortlessly copied or passed down to produce paper smoke.
Otherwise, Chen Xu would have long noticed the oddities of this world.
He listened to the shadowy reminder and, cupping his hands, said: "Your Excellency, you are truly a kind ghost, thank you for reminding ; I wish to give it a try."
"You call kind? Hehehe..." The hoarse voice laughed, with black and gray dust seemingly falling from either side of the shadow.
"You could have easily taken my arms, legs, and eyes, without any warning, yet you did. How is this not kindness?"
"I am not kind." The shadowy voice, still hoarse, said slowly, "They are truly pitiful ghosts, and I... heh."
The shadow laughed, sounding like coarse sandpaper scraping against a rust-stained ancient copper mirror.
It pierced the eardrums painfully, and listening to it, Chen Xu felt an inexplicable urge to cut it off.
He imdiately mobilized the Innate Qi within him, suppressing the discomfort, aligning his essence, energy, and spirit into harmony.
In a state of full vitality, external evils naturally had difficulty invading.
He heard the shadow speak: "I was born in a small official’s family, as a concubine’s daughter, raised in the countryside due to my powerful stepmother.
When I reached marriageable age, my stepmother intended to give to Shangguan as a concubine.
That Shangguan was in his sixties, and had already gone through many young concubines, one after another.
Unwilling to enter that hellhole to die, I orchestrated a plot to harm my legitimate sister, taking her place to compete for a position as a Female Official in the palace.
If destined to be a concubine, why not beco a concubine to the highest rank in the land?
Though a Female Official, through beauty and cunning, I indeed caught the Emperor’s eye, becoming favored, in a night of luxury.
I thought I could from then on rise to the top of the six palaces, change my fate of being as lowly as dust, and trample those who once wronged beneath my feet!
But who would have thought, in truth, the emperor only glanced at , favored for a night.
Afterward, he forgot ...
He does not rember who I am, and went on to revel with others, the music never ceasing, every night with new faces.
What am I then? I’m rely a wrongdoer, rightfully reaping the consequences of my actions, an Evil Ghost! Haha, haha..."
The shadow just laughed, seemingly laughing so hard it might shake its fra to pieces.
"What poem would you write for ? Write that I deserve to grow old and die in the palace? Hahaha!"
In the chaotic Ghost Market, at this mont only the shadow’s laughter stood out, so sharp it even made the paper lanterns on either side of the long street sway, drawing many gazes this way.
Chen Xu only spoke in a calm voice: "You wronged yourself, when was it wrong to fight against fate?
Is not the fault with those so-called superior beings who treat people like objects?"
"I, I..." The shadow moved slightly, as if retreating into the dark abyss behind the stall.
"Are you an object?"
"No, I am not!"
"I shall write you a poem." Chen Xu said, "Is there paper and pen?"
"Why do you need paper and pen? Just recite..."
"Without paper and pen, how can the ink-paper smoke be showcased?"
He spoke casually, yet with such assurance, the shadow was captivated by his deanor, instinctively turning to face the White Bone Ghost standing isolated at the end of the long street.
The White Bone Ghost said nothing, standing silently.
The shadow fished around beneath its stall and indeed pulled out a piece of yellowing, fringed paper and a slightly frayed bamboo pen.
With paper and pen yet still requiring ink, the shadow again fished out a small jar from beneath the stall.
The jar contained half a jar of black-red peculiar liquid, vaguely exuding a bloody scent.
The shadow pushed the jar toward Chen Xu, hesitating halfway, its shadowy hands retracting slightly.
Chen Xu steadied the jar of "ink," placing it on his side of the stall.
[Netherworld Ink, half jar of Six Livestock Blood, mixed with kitchen soot, when cooked, can be consud by demons and ghosts, bitter, able to clear fire.]
The shadow busied itself rearranging items on its stall, clearing a corner for Chen Xu to compose his poem.
Chen Xu dipped the ink, lifting the pen, bending forward.
His brush flowed like a stream, lofty as a peak, weights and asures harmonized, neither rushed nor slow.
The poem titled "Post Palace Poems".
The shadow watched the lines of poetry forming beneath the brush, unable to resist reciting along:
"Tears wetting the silk scarf, dreams unfulfilled, as songs echo deep into the night from the front hall.
Before beauty fades, favor is lost; leaning against the ward censer, sitting till dawn."
The final "dawn" character was penned, and suddenly a wisp of blue smoke rose into the air.
In an instant, Chen Xu felt the Innate Qi in his body circulate rapidly, only to be mysteriously drawn away in re monts.
Yet on the yellow paper before him, the blue smoke swirled upward, like cloud waves surging skyward, cultural tides sweeping across the ocean.
"It’s blue smoke!"
"Am I seeing things? Is there indeed smoke rising from paper occurring before my eyes?"
"Did I truly witness ink-paper smoke?"
"Seeing paper smoke after death, my death is not in vain..."
On both sides of the long street, paper lanterns swayed.
The living and the dead alike cried in chaotic astonishnt, watching as the blue smoke shot up skyward, eting the moonlight above.
With a gentle, swaying motion, the moonlight descended halfway.
Reviews
All reviews (0)