Chapter 25: Who would dare walk the night path carrying ghost money?

Lu Town.

Heifei rose early again that day, slung a tattered leather bag over his shoulder, and boarded the ferry to Lu Town.

It was another bustling day in Lu Town. Peddlers, porters, pickpockets, fortune tellers, and street performers had all converged here. Along the edge of the town, the great river surged eastward, its waves churning violently; one could occasionally spot men or women bobbing in the currents. These were the ne’er-do-wells, the thieves, and the social outcasts whom the townspeople had cast into the river to fend for themselves.

Amidst the sounds of weeping and laughter, Lu Town embraced yet another prosperous day. The sun shone brightly, a spring breeze swept for miles, and the crowds—filled with beauties, handsome men, gamblers, and scoundrels—made the town appear to be in a golden age. Heifei moved through this throng, casually puffing on a fine cigar, spitting, and cursing as he strolled down the main street.

Heifei had come to Lu Town purely for money. With no other way to make a living, he had resorted to the last-ditch effort of staging a fight in public to charge spectators for the show. Who would do such a thing if they had any other choice?

"A fight! Heifei’s going to fight! Come and watch!" some mischievous youths shouted. A crowd soon trailed behind him, clogging the streets and blocking traffic.

"Heifei, if you’re going to fight, hit someone important, otherwise I’m not paying you much," someone suggested.

Finding an "important person" proved difficult, leaving Heifei in a bind. He paced back and forth through the town, hoping for luck, though there were times he failed to find a target. On such days, the youths and the thrill-seekers would leave disappointed.

Yet, the followers today believed Heifei would not let them down; he would surely fight someone—they just didn't know who.

Meanwhile, Shaoqiu had come to Lu Town to sell the yam he had just dug up from the mountains. He had grown it himself and, reluctant to eat it, he had carried it to town to sell. He had no money, and his books had been stolen by someone unknown; he had to sell the yam to survive.

Shaoqiu set up his stall under the great bridge, where foot traffic was heavy. In the past, he could sell his entire stock in half an afternoon. He was certain today would be no different.

Just then, a group of people rushed toward him. It was Heifei and his entourage. What business did he have here? The people trailing behind him were spewing filth, cursing at passersby, who dared not respond.

"Are these yams selling well?" Heifei asked, leaning over Shaoqiu’s stall with a grin.

"They're alright. What are you here for?"

"Nothing much, just checking on you. Long time no see, brother. How have you been?" Heifei squatted down, eyeing the yams. "Are these tasty?"

Before waiting for an answer, he picked up a yam weighing about two pounds, peeled it without permission, and started chewing loudly.

"How can you sample such a large one? If everyone did that, I’d be left with nothing," Shaoqiu said, growing angry.

"This one isn't good. I'll try another. If that one isn't good either, I won't buy any," Heifei said.

"Just leave. Go look somewhere else. You don't need to buy anything here. They aren't good—they're sour," Shaoqiu said helplessly, lamenting that he was merely a scholar; otherwise, his fists would have already flown.

"Oh, if that's the case, then I won't buy any. Sigh, these are just too unappetizing. Otherwise, I would have bought them all," Heifei declared. He let out a loud belch, urinated against a wall, and walked away.

The crowd hoping for a fight left, disappointed once more, leaving Heifei to wander the town alone.

A wind picked up. Shaoqiu looked at the sky; it looked like rain. He had to pack up early, or everything would be ruined. He felt fortunate to have avoided a confrontation; seeing Heifei’s demeanor, it was clear he was looking for a fight. Had Shaoqiu not been patient, he would have suffered a great humiliation in Lu Town today.

By the time he packed up and returned to the boat, it was late. The western sky was ablaze with a deep, fiery red.

Meanwhile, Dipupa had left his house that day to attend the market in Lu Town. When he went to leave, the ferry had already departed. Unable to catch a ride, he had to take the mountain path.

He had bought ritual paper at the market to burn for his father, who had passed away years ago. He had hoped to take the ferry back and chat with the pretty girls on board—life felt unbearable without such diversions.

Unexpectedly missing the boat, Dipupa sat by the pier, smoking. Suddenly, a wolf lunged at him, biting his hand ferociously. Dipupa roared, and the wolf was terrified to death on the spot, its body split open by a large wound beneath it.

Dipupa grunted, picked up his ritual paper, waded across the river, climbed onto the other bank, and trudged toward his home. The setting sun hung on the horizon, ready to disappear at any moment.

A gust of wind blew, causing stones to roll across the earth, the sound echoing like a curse. But upon closer inspection, there was nothing to hear.

Dipupa didn't care; he kept walking forward. But when he thought of the long road ahead, his mood soured.

It was the fifteenth day of the seventh lunar month, when, according to legend, ghosts roamed the earth, sometimes taking the lives of the living. Dipupa was well aware of this, but since he was already walking at night, there was no use complaining. He just had to keep moving.

Carrying the ritual paper on a night journey felt ominous. But he was already on the wild path, and there was no boat to take. Could he do anything but go forward?

As he walked, he grew tired and sat on a rock by the roadside, gazing ahead. He had less than a hundred miles to go before reaching home. But here in the wilderness, the only thing visible was the moon hanging in the sky—a moon that looked pale and miserable.

A wind swept by, the reeds rattled, and a chill set in, making Dipupa tremble. He placed the ritual paper beside him, wanting a drink, but his flask was empty. Overcome by exhaustion, he lay down on the rock to rest; it was night, after all.

In the deserted wilderness, Dipupa slept for a while. When he opened his eyes again, he could see nothing. The moon had vanished from the sky. Even more terrifying, his ritual paper had disappeared, and the expensive spirit money he had bought was gone.

"What is going on?" he wondered, but as he thought about it, a great fear took hold.

This could only mean one thing: his things had been stolen. But who would want such items?

Dipupa began to feel truly afraid. There was clearly something terrifying around him. How could he not be afraid? He began to run for his life. In the dark wilderness, he lost his shoes, but he didn't care; he just kept running forward. He tripped and tumbled into a ravine, crawling through the mud, completely lost and unable to find his way.