Chapter Sixteen: The Girl in the Abandoned Temple

At that moment, the sky grew inexplicably dark and oppressive, weighing down so heavily on one’s chest that it was almost hard to breathe. Yet despite this, the people on the boat remained carefree—some drinking, others playing cards, shouting boisterously as usual.

The boat was now approaching a perilous stretch of rapids, notorious in legend for a terrifying water spirit said to seize the feet of travelers and drag them to an unknown fate. No one knew where the spirit took its victims, and none dared speculate.

There were also tales of a boat seen drifting downstream in complete darkness—no lights, no moon—only to vanish mysteriously halfway through the rapids, along with the hum of its motor. Once, a man squatting by the riverbank witnessed this eerie sight and was so startled that he accidentally fell into the rapids, swept away by the fierce current. After a desperate struggle, he was cast onto a small island just as the moon emerged from behind the clouds. Then, he heard the motor again and saw that very same boat, now a shadowy silhouette drifting silently down the river. But as it passed him, a chilling coldness enveloped him, silencing his voice—what exactly he feared, no one could say. The boat soon disappeared into the mist and darkness beyond.

In time, word spread that the man who had seen the ghostly boat met a tragic death on a pitch-black night.

Thinking of these stories, Shao Qiu felt a flicker of fear, but surrounded by so many companions, he managed to suppress it. The wind blew from afar, lashing against the boat and splashing water aboard, yet the vessel remained steady, gliding smoothly through the river.

The scenery on both banks was so enchanting that it lifted Shao Qiu’s spirits, nearly inspiring him to compose a poem on the spot. Then the weather turned abruptly grim once more; fierce winds stirred towering waves, and stones tumbled into the river, vanishing beneath the turbulent waters.

Just then, someone aboard claimed to have spotted a large boat ahead, moving slowly and silently, devoid of any human voices. Others echoed this, but Shao Qiu could see nothing. The banks still held their charm—tendrils of smoke from hearths curled upward, the scent of peach blossoms filled the air, and a young girl’s song floated gently in the spring breeze.

“Trouble! It’s the ghost ship. Looks like I won’t survive this,” someone said, bursting into tears. Shao Qiu couldn’t see it, and inwardly felt a measure of relief.

“Run while you can! If we don’t escape now, who knows how we’ll die downstream?” the same voice urged, only to fall silent, for no one believed him.

The boat pressed onward. As the sun dipped below the horizon, a fierce gust swept in, hurling stones the size of bowls that struck the passengers’ faces. Some wept uncontrollably, others covered their faces, cursing the wild storm with harsh words. Shao Qiu sat quietly, watching the trees retreat on both sides and the darkened backs of farmers laboring in the fields. An inexplicable unease settled deep within him. What was this feeling? What was happening?

Suddenly, a water buffalo leapt from the furious waves onto the boat, colliding with an elderly man who fell, writhing in pain. The buffalo then plunged back into the river and disappeared like a specter.

“What on earth is going on? Why did that cursed buffalo jump aboard? Does it see the boat as nothing, as if it doesn’t exist?” someone muttered, but no one paid him any heed.

“This is no good,” another warned. “Today something’s bound to happen. We should get out of here. Staying on this boat is madness.” Saying this, he jumped into the raging waters and was never seen again.

“My brother fell in too, and yet the boat keeps moving forward without stopping,” the jumper’s sibling cried out. Without hesitation, he plunged into the waves, swimming to the bow and trying to block the boat’s advance with his shoulders. The consequences were clear—he too was swallowed by the torrent, bidding farewell to the world.

The boat continued relentlessly. To Shao Qiu, the once-beautiful scenery now seemed ominous and fearsome.

“I saw my long-deceased grandfather fall into the water,” a voice declared. “I cannot let him be swept away by the waves alone. I must join him, or he may be afraid.” Without another word, the speaker leapt into the perilous river and vanished in an instant.

Shao Qiu remained seated on a battered plank, gazing out. Beyond lay a dilapidated white temple and several towering pagodas. Bells tolled from within the towers, offering a strange comfort to the passengers, dispelling their loneliness. Yet beneath one tower, two burly men fought fiercely, exchanging crude insults that made Shao Qiu avert his ears in discomfort.

From the crumbling temple courtyard, unseen from the riverbank, a scoundrel was violating a young maiden. She dared not resist; the deed was done, and she was resigned. Shao Qiu could see it all clearly through the broken walls—the girl subdued beneath the villain’s iron grip.

The boat pressed onward, unrelenting.

No one knew when the treacherous rapids would end. The roar of waves crashing against jagged rocks filled the air, spray flying in every direction.

At that moment, a towering figure clad in black stood amid the furious rapids. His hair was wild, and he gripped a staff as if intent on smashing the boat to pieces under the endless night. The vessel briefly lost control but could not halt its progress—who would dare confront such a mysterious apparition? The boat collided with the figure, and passengers screamed in terror. Some, desperate not to offend the spirit, leapt into the water and never surfaced again, likely claimed by the divine being.

And so the voyage continued, shrouded in dread and uncertainty.