Chapter Thirty-Two: Strange Happenings at Night in Changning County, and a Seam-Spirit Corpse Yields a Ginseng Fruit

The silent night was deep, the floating light gentle, coldly bathing the melting moon.

"Dry weather, be careful with fire..." The night watchman banged his brass gong with force, the muffled sound and his slightly raspy voice echoing far into the darkness.

The long street of Changning County could not compare to the bustle of Jian'an Capital; at this hour, the third watch, apart from the occasional drinking games drifting from the brothels, the street was utterly deserted.

He drew the lantern closer to his chest. The night of Mid-Autumn was not only lonely but also carried a chill, yet the flickering firelight offered some warmth.

"Guard against thieves and burglars, shut doors and windows, big ghosts and little ghosts sitting in a row, all is safe and sound!" The night watchman knocked his gong as he walked toward the end of the street, humming a bawdy tune he'd heard in a teahouse a few days prior.

The moonlight was like water, illuminating the long street clearly.

From a distance, the night watchman spotted a woman standing at the street corner ahead.

A beautiful woman with a voluptuous figure.

She was alluring and charming, her hair curled like clouds, her skin like jade, her light gauze robe barely concealing her form, graceful and delicate.

The night watchman, a bachelor, was struck dumb by her beauty; his eyes went wide, and his feet unconsciously carried him toward her, almost drooling.

Though lustful at heart, he lacked the courage; he assumed the woman was one of the brothel girls out late for a stroll, and prepared to tease her.

Unexpectedly, the seductive woman threw him a flirtatious glance. That was it—the night watchman felt his legs go weak, almost unable to move.

He thought to himself that tonight was his lucky night.

As the moon set and shadows deepened, the night watchman, grinning lewdly, approached the woman.

But just as he was only a few steps away, his smile froze.

He stammered, pointing at her, "I remember now, aren't you..."

He hadn't finished speaking before a chill ran down his spine, and he tried to turn and flee.

Only then did he realize his legs wouldn't budge.

They weren't weak—they were being held fast by a mass of shadow.

Clouds half-veiled the moon, the night grew darker.

The street was deserted; the shadow slowly crawled up the night watchman's body.

The paper lantern dropped, rolling aside.

The gong sounded dully, a single clang.

...

In Mortuary Room Number Seven, Song Mo frowned at the corpse covered by white cloth on the table.

From the south of the city came a series of clangs from a brass gong; Song Mo knew it was a reminder not to miss the appointed hour.

"One step at a time," Song Mo muttered, lighting the Soul-Calming Lamp and placing it in the corner.

He lifted the white cloth, revealing the body.

A single glance made his scalp tingle. The corpse bore only one wound—a horrifying claw mark on its neck, as if torn by some wild beast.

But having seen countless gruesome wounds, this was hardly the worst.

What unsettled Song Mo was that the corpse's lips were faintly upturned.

He was smiling, a satisfied smile.

It was utterly unnatural; one might understand such a smile on the face of someone freed by suicide.

But Song Mo had inquired of an elderly porter and learned the man was a mountain guide, killed by a tiger while gathering ginseng.

The tiger attacked, leaving the claw mark.

Unable to fathom it, Song Mo took out a wooden box to prepare the corpse for burial.

All would be revealed soon enough.

Song Mo threaded the needle and began to sew the corpse. With only a single wound, the task was simple.

As he stitched in earnest, he failed to notice the Soul-Summoning Lamp in the corner suddenly shudder, and a black shadow, as if scorched, retreated into the darkness.

The lamp returned to normal, its light steady.

At the third watch, the claw mark vanished, and the corpse was fully sewn.

As if in a trance, the Soul-Summoning Banner unfurled, the Soul Record appeared.

Next, the corpse's life lantern spun.

In life, the corpse was named Wang Biao, as the mortuary porter had said, a mountain guide.

Ten miles outside Changning County lay Sheepgut Mountain, its paths winding and treacherous, well deserving its name.

Wang Biao's family once lived at the mountain's foot. His father was a renowned hunter in the surrounding villages, and Wang Biao grew up following him through the hills, becoming intimately familiar with Sheepgut Mountain.

Upon reaching adulthood, his father arranged a marriage for him with a comely girl from a neighboring village.

After marrying, Wang Biao spent his days on the kang bed, and within a year, his vigor was depleted.

As the saying goes, once one has tasted marrow, the craving grows. His wife, having just discovered the joys of intimacy, soon found herself unsatisfied, unable to endure loneliness.

Before long, she strayed.

Within half a month, she began an affair with Master Huang, the proprietor of the county's pharmacy.

Ironically, Wang Biao's wife had gone to town for medicine to treat her husband's impotence; Master Huang, upon learning the truth, saw his opportunity.

Master Huang was no decent man. To keep Wang Biao's wife as his mistress, he secretly tampered with Wang Biao's medicine.

Soon enough, Wang Biao's wife was left a widow in all but name.

Secrets rarely last; Wang Biao soon learned of his wife's infidelity.

Yet Wang Biao, stubborn as he was, never suspected his own shortcomings, instead believing his wife despised him for his poverty.

He assumed she coveted Master Huang's wealth, and that if he earned more, she would return.

Unable to hunt like his father due to his ruined health, and with hunting yielding little profit, Wang Biao decided to become a mountain guide, relying on his familiarity with Sheepgut Mountain.

The mountain indeed held treasures—ginseng, lingzhi, and many other wonders.

Moreover, the tangled paths kept most guides away.

Wang Biao made up his mind and set out.

He soon entered the mountain, but things did not go as smoothly as he hoped; not a trace of ginseng or lingzhi was found all day.

Night fell. Knowing descent was perilous, Wang Biao built a fire and decided to search again in the morning.

In the middle of the night, he was awakened by a cold mountain wind.

At some point, his fire had gone out.

Cursing his luck, he was comforted by the full moon's bright light.

The scent of pine resin hung in the air, and Wang Biao felt the urge to relieve himself.

But Wang Biao was doomed by his own choices; instead of finding a sheltered spot, he insisted on going to the cliff edge.

He walked along the familiar path, chilled by the wind, eyes half-closed.

Suddenly, he stopped and listened.

Through the cold wind came the clear, languid singing of a woman.

He snapped awake and looked up.

Under the moonlight, he saw clearly.

On a jutting stone atop the cliff, a seductive woman clad in thin gauze knelt, worshipping the moon.

She was a thousand times more beautiful than his wife; Wang Biao stared, drooling, unable to resist walking toward the cliff.

Just then, the woman turned and glared at him.

Her gaze held anger and shame.

Wang Biao lost all restraint and moved closer.

In that instant, the woman vanished.

He blinked, nearly frightened to death.

The cliff was empty save for a glaring white tiger.

Terrified, Wang Biao turned to flee, but had barely taken two steps before he stopped.

Not because his legs were weak, but because a black shadow held his feet fast.

A fierce wind swept by, and a corpse lay on the ground.

...

The life lantern finished its spin, the soul was gathered into the Soul-Summoning Banner.

Soul, return, enter the record.

Heaven and earth, profound and yellow, four tiers and nine grades.

The Soul Record gave the final appraisal: Second Grade of the Profound Tier.

One ginseng fruit.

The "Record of Strange Tales" states: "The Kingdom of Dashi lies in the western sea. There is a stone, upon which many trees grow; their trunks are red, leaves green, and on the branches grow children six or seven inches tall. When wind blows, they rise, move their limbs, their heads attached to the branches."

Song Mo marveled at the ginseng fruit in his hand. It truly resembled a tiny person, said to restore vitality, balance yin and yang, and remedy deficiencies of the five elements.

He took a bite; its juice was sweet, its texture exquisite.

Soon, Song Mo felt warmth spreading through his limbs and organs—truly miraculous.

He felt utterly at ease, sleepiness overtaking him.

Drowsy, he lay upon the cold cot, and the shadow from the life lantern's vision began to float through his mind.