Chapter 70: Grandmother Deceived

Fate is hard to speak of.

What is destined cannot be changed, no matter how one struggles. For instance, some people are fated to live only until the age of thirty-eight; they will never see thirty-nine. Through my studies of destiny, I have learned such things can be seen in one’s birth chart.

No matter how much I may resist, I must accept this truth.

After calling my mother back, my grandmother spoke with her, sharing her deepest thoughts, then she turned to me, imparting lessons on how to conduct oneself in life, and finally, she gave instructions regarding her funeral arrangements.

When I first began learning from her, she warned me that this path would not end well. At the time, I wondered what kind of end that would be. As it turns out, a “bad end” meant that the burial would not go smoothly—though she never explained exactly what might happen, only what to do if certain events occurred.

The grave was to be the one we had prepared previously, and the coffin was the large red one from the dark room. The burial was to take place tonight, precisely at midnight.

Initially, Grandmother considered asking villagers to help with the funeral, but recalling their recent coldness, she decided instead to hire two outsiders to help carry the coffin.

This time, there would be no danger to us, but knowing that outsiders might be frightened and cause trouble, I thought of Cao Guangshan and Fatty. The three of them had often come to see me in recent months, so I suggested the four of us could carry the coffin up the mountain together. After a brief pause, Grandmother agreed.

At the same time, she entrusted me with Xiao Tong, the little spirit she had raised, telling me to treat him well, for he was unfortunate—born at the wrong time and unable to reincarnate, so he must stay by our side.

After relaying all this, Grandmother caressed my face and said, “Ziwu, fate cannot be defied, and human hearts are hard to read. Some people are born with a fixed nature—be cautious, and do not let yourself be manipulated.”

Regarding my soft-heartedness, she called it both a virtue and a flaw, reminding me more than once to act with resolve when necessary, for not every life is worth saving. Yet, if I encounter someone truly in need, I must not shrink even if it means risking my life.

“I understand,” I replied earnestly, nodding.

Grandmother smiled contentedly. Just as I was about to speak again, her hand slipped from my face, and her eyes slowly closed.

She was gone—so swiftly.

Though I had long known this moment would come, facing it in reality broke me. I howled in grief, unable to accept the outcome.

After some time, my mother reminded me of the many tasks ahead and urged me not to delay.

Wiping away my tears, I stepped outside and called Cao Guangshan, telling him of Grandmother’s death and asking for his help. He promised to arrive within an hour, and I then went to the neighboring village to find Fatty and Stone.

Upon hearing the news, both set aside their work without hesitation and returned with me, just in time to meet the arriving Cao Guangshan. Together, the four of us carried the large red coffin out of the dark room and placed Grandmother inside.

Normally, coffins are sealed with iron nails, but Grandmother had prepared eight peachwood nails, each inscribed with dense spells.

We also brought the ten oil lamps that had once surrounded the coffin in the dark room. This time, instead of placing them around the coffin, we set them in a straight line atop the lid.

Grandmother had been very clear: the ten lamps must be affixed to the coffin lid and accompany her into the grave. As soon as we carried the coffin out and placed it on the cart, we were to light all ten lamps as quickly as possible.

She had prepared a special lamp oil, which I recognized as the same as the one she had once told me to burn for seven days. Xu Buhuo had said that flames fueled by this oil cannot be extinguished by wind.

On the way to the burial, if any lamp went out, we had to stop, each burn an incense stick to the extinguished lamp, bow three times, and place the incense at our feet, scattering paper money and yellow paper before proceeding.

Since we could not predict when the lamps might go out, Grandmother told us to hurry as much as possible, aiming to reach the grave and place the coffin in the pit before all ten lamps were extinguished.

If we failed to do so, and the last lamp was snuffed out before the coffin reached the grave, we were to stop immediately, douse the coffin in gasoline, and set it alight.

After lighting the coffin, we had to retreat fifty paces and wait for the fire to burn out completely before approaching. Whatever remained—ash or fragments—was to be placed in the grave.

After explaining all this to Stone and the others, they looked uneasy. Cao Guangshan even asked, “Why do your grandmother’s arrangements feel like she’s guarding against herself?”

His words struck a chord; I, too, had been troubled by that thought. Whether it was the peachwood nails, the ten lamps on the coffin lid, or the instruction to burn the coffin if the burial wasn’t completed before the lamps went out—it all felt as though Grandmother feared she might rise as a corpse.

Why else would the coffin need to be burned?

I had wanted to ask, but she had given me no chance. Now, it was too late.

I had no idea what would happen that night—only that I hoped the journey would not be too tumultuous, and that we could bury Grandmother before the lamps went out. Otherwise, it would be a shame to destroy such a fine coffin.

To be safe, I drew protective spells on each of the three men’s chests, shielding them from unforeseen harm during the funeral.

Time passed slowly.

After night fell, some villagers somehow learned of Grandmother’s death and came to pay their respects.

Once they had left, it was time for the funeral. As the clock struck midnight, the four of us strained to lift the coffin and place it on the cart outside.

We lit the ten lamps at once, then grabbed incense, paper money, yellow sheets, and the gasoline can, hurrying toward the mountain.

The tension was palpable; none of us spoke. I pulled the cart at the front, while Cao Guangshan and the others pushed from behind.

For safety, I had already opened my spiritual sight before midnight. While in the village, everything seemed normal, but as soon as we passed the last house, I saw thick, dark mist rolling down the mountain toward us.

“Ziwu, a lamp went out!” Stone cried in alarm.

I stopped immediately and followed the instructions: lighting incense, scattering paper money and yellow paper.

A ghostly wind howled, sending the yellow paper swirling and the money scattering to the ground.

Glancing around, I saw spirits lingering nearby, but I kept this from the others. Quickly, I lifted the cart and pressed on up the mountain.

But we had hardly gone ten meters before Stone shouted again—another lamp had gone out.

This time, I saw clearly: a pallid old man was crouched on Grandmother’s coffin, licking the oil from the extinguished lamp.

Suddenly, the old man turned to look at me. I shivered, gritted my teeth, pretended not to see, and went through the ritual again—incense, offerings, paper.

When I looked up, the old man was gone.

Now I understood why Xu Buhuo had said that wind could not extinguish this oil’s flame—only ghosts could.

Steeling myself, we continued up the mountain.

To my despair, every ten or twenty meters, another lamp would be snuffed out by spirits.

By the time we reached halfway, only three remained. I was on edge, sensing we might not reach the grave before all the lamps were out.

“Go!” I roared, mustering every ounce of strength to haul the coffin upward. I didn’t want Grandmother’s body to be burned.

The others understood the gravity of the situation and strained with all their might.

As we neared the grave, only one lamp still flickered. When we tried to lift the coffin, our arms and legs had turned to jelly from exhaustion.

Just then, a dark shadow hurtled toward the coffin, clearly aiming for the last lamp.

Seeing it, I acted on instinct—biting my middle finger until it bled, stepping into the Nine Palaces stance, and intercepting the shadow, jabbing my bloody finger into it as it charged.

Wounded, the shadow recoiled into the distance.

“Hurry!”

Time was against us. Though weak, we managed to drag the coffin off the cart and quickly move it to the edge of the grave.

With a heavy thud, it crashed to the ground—and at that exact instant, the last lamp went out. This time, I saw no ghost.

It seemed we had succeeded. We collapsed to the earth, gasping for breath.

A chilly wind suddenly picked up, whipping around Stone and the others. To them, it was only cold, but through my eyes, I saw it laced with ghostly energy.

Shadows flickered in the wind.

“Ziwu, that last lamp went out strangely—what does it mean?” Cao Guangshan suddenly asked.

At first, I didn’t understand his question, but then I realized: the lamp had gone out the very moment the coffin touched the ground.

Grandmother had not prepared for this scenario.

Had we made it before the lamps were all extinguished—or not? If the former, we could proceed as planned; if the latter, we were supposed to burn the coffin.

But as I replayed the moment, I was confused—the coffin landing and the lamp going out seemed simultaneous.

The wind grew fiercer, gnawing at my nerves.

I gazed at the coffin, at my grandmother within. I didn’t want to burn her, and since I hadn’t seen a ghost snuff the last lamp, I said, “It should count as success.”

The safest course would be to burn the coffin, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

The ghost wind sent goosebumps prickling over my skin. Cao Guangshan urged us to hurry, to bury the coffin quickly and get down the mountain.

As soon as the first shovelfuls of earth were thrown onto the coffin, a loud bang echoed out.

We froze in terror.

“Did you hit a rock?” Fatty asked, thinking a stone in the soil had struck the coffin. I shook my head. Stone and the others were equally baffled.

We waited a few seconds. When nothing else happened, we resumed shoveling.

Again, as earth landed on the lid, the coffin jolted violently, shattering the oil lamps affixed atop.

In that instant, a single thought seized my mind: Grandmother had risen.