Chapter 2

A dozen shadowy debt ghosts acted as if they planned to settle in for the long haul, shamelessly lingering without a care that the lady of the house would soon join their ranks—and that future encounters might prove awkward.

Xun Ruosu had prepared plenty of paper money for herself, but the debts owed to these ghostly shadows weren’t hers to pay. No matter how much they reached out greedily, they couldn’t claim it from her. Their eyes glowed green as they crowded around when she climbed into the coffin, peering in like mourners paying their respects to the departed. They practically wanted to clamber inside with her.

It was a shame, though, that a pure pinewood coffin invited heavenly retribution. Any soul laid inside would be forever denied reincarnation. These debt ghosts only wanted the money—they had no reason to follow Xun Ruosu into complete soul dissipation.

The household’s mistress was truly peculiar, even in the eyes of the drifting debt ghosts. They couldn’t fathom it. Even if her time had come, there was no need to outfit herself with a pure pinewood coffin strung with ink lines and hung with a soul-shaking bell. It was as if she intended to sever her own path on the reincarnation wheel, ensuring her death was utterly, thoroughly final.

“Alright, enough gawking,” Xun Ruosu said, closing her eyes. “I’m getting ready to die.” Perhaps the sun had been too bright during the day, and with her thin eyelids unable to block the glare, she paused before adding, “Give me a moment to get into the mood.”

The debt ghosts fell silent, reflecting on their own untimely ends. They unanimously decided this woman was no good sort.

By rights, these debt ghosts had come to collect from Manager Hu. Extorting higher payments was a deed that damaged one’s yin virtue. For the deceased, it meant being rooted to the spot in hatred, denied entry into reincarnation, and trailing after Manager Hu relentlessly. He hadn’t deserved death for his original sins—just the occasional car breakdown or bout of illness requiring a hospital visit as minor punishment and warning. Unfortunately, his business dealings were vast, attracting a horde of debt ghosts. Now it seemed they would drag him down to death today.

The souls of the innocently departed could enter reincarnation. But killing someone turned them into malicious ghosts or vengeful spirits. With Manager Hu’s death, these debt ghosts became accomplices. In the human world, murder meant prison. Debt ghosts couldn’t eat prison food, but they might be struck into ashes on the spot.

The Heavenly Dao was harsh and biased—unfair to its core.

Yuan Jue the monk still clutched the paper treasure ingots. Before lying down, Xun Ruosu had instructed him to carry her to the ancestral graveyard after midnight and then burn them. He treated it as a client’s request and followed through.

The Xun Family owned dozens of acres on the outskirts of Clear Canal County, including a plot entirely devoted to graves. Back when cremation was mandated, officials had demanded the graves be exhumed, incinerated, and the land returned to farming. But the Xun ancestors had caused a fuss. Disturb their bones, and not just Clear Canal County but the entire province shook with quakes. They dug three times, and each attempt triggered the same disaster.

This was during the height of the “Smash the Four Olds” campaign. Some skeptics refused to believe it and tested it over a dozen times. In a region free of fault lines for centuries, without a single major quake, their own houses collapsed from the tremors. Only then did they give up.

Xun Ruosu’s coffin would be borne to that same family plot. Her ancestors had been thorough; they’d pre-dug graves for generations to come. Fortunately, the Xun line wasn’t long-lived. Counting from the forebears, there were just twenty-six pits—and Xun Ruosu’s generation had died out. Had anyone in the family enjoyed having children, there wouldn’t have been enough plots to go around.

The Xun family had practiced fortune-telling for generations, with an ancestral rule: three divinations by day, and three reserved for night—one half for the living, half for the dead. Acts like Xun Ruosu’s, saving debt ghosts from peril, had earned boundless merits. Alas, merits piled too high. King Yama had grumbled, “Damn it, which do-gooder is saddling the Underworld with extra work?” As a result, none lived past thirty. Most perished at twenty-six or twenty-seven.

Twenty-six or twenty-seven was a fine age to go, Xun Ruosu mused. One’s remains looked beautiful at that stage.

Past the awkward years of youth came poise; maturity brought allure. It suited the stunning peony hue, paired with an indigo cheongsam.

The daytime ceremony had been lively, with over a dozen living mourners playing music, chanting sutras. By custom, paper money should have been burned too, but Xun Ruosu was still psyching herself up—not fully dead yet, so she couldn’t receive it. With the mistress’s permission, they saved it for after midnight, once she was in the grave.

Nightfall meant it was time to escort Xun Ruosu to the graveyard.

Yuan Jue saw she showed no signs of dying and leaned over the coffin’s edge to negotiate. Live burial went against his conscience, so they could only take her to the gravesite. If she felt suffocated, she could seal the lid herself…

Even as he said it, Yuan Jue thought his own head must be addled.

Xun Ruosu nodded calmly. “Fine. I’ll close the coffin myself.”

Yuan Jue wanted to urge her to see a doctor. This household was pure tomfoolery. Death wasn’t like an exam with a set time and date.

But the funeral trade had its rules. Life and death were grave matters, demanding reverence. Even if it was nonsense, one cooperated. Xun Ruosu might be eccentric, but few spoke ill of her behind her back.

Dusk deepened. The solid pinewood coffin was heavy, but with no corpse inside—and Xun Ruosu no hefty woman—four strapping young men managed easily. They loaded it onto the truck, drove a mile or two to the graveyard’s edge, then bore it the rest of the way amid music and fanfare.

Xun Ruosu wanted to die alone, not wear out her pallbearers. Carrying it a hundred kilometers on foot would leave her bleached bones by journey’s end.

The truck crawled along for steadiness. White silk flowers draped the exterior—funerary tradition, positioned to avoid blocking the road. Two hours later, they reached the graveyard vicinity.

The fine daytime weather turned rainy by night, the surroundings chill and desolate. Someone had recently swept the Xun graves; unburnt paper ash still drifted. Xun Ruosu’s spot was in the innermost corner. The pallbearers crossed field ridges. Crows called nearby, tree shadows looming over the paths. For a moment, the group fancied themselves stranded in the wilds, clinging together for survival.

The suona blared high and shrill. Gongs and drums joined in, while Yuan Jue and his two young disciples chanted disjointed sutras. Xun Ruosu had been lying in the coffin with eyes shut but was jolted wide awake—”dead with eyes unglazed”—by the raucous din.

The living bolstered their courage much like dancing atop the Xun ancestors’ graves. After some stomping about, they finally delivered the coffin to its pit. Xun Ruosu had never died before and hadn’t realized the afterlife began with such toil. She gazed skyward; even after the suona fell silent, her ears rang.

The graveyard was eerie and solemn, lost in the barren wilds. It sloped gently, lined with towering pines decades old. Distant homestead lights flickered faintly. As they set down the coffin and the music halted, desolation rushed back in. The group exchanged uneasy glances, trapped in a dilemma.

Yuan Jue hiked up his robes, squatted by the coffin, and ventured carefully, “Benefactress, we’re heading back now. We’ll half-close the lid for you, leave a gap for air… It’s wild country out here—no beasts maybe, but nights are cold. If it’s too much, here’s my card. We’ll leave a blanket by the ridge.”

Xun Ruosu opened her eyes and nodded slightly. “Thank you. Remember to burn the paper treasure ingots when you get back. Monk, you have a kind heart. You won’t amass great wealth in this life, but you’ll live better than the wealthy ever could.”

Yuan Jue paused, then lowered his gaze and murmured, “Amitabha. This poor monk is a firm materialist, but thank you all the same, benefactress.”

They rallied the dozen-plus mourners with music and bluster to return to the truck. True to his word, Yuan Jue left a cardboard box stocked with a blanket, steamed buns, and water. He’d never met anyone as serene as Xun Ruosu—seemingly indifferent to all, yet revealing tenderness in small ways. Influenced by her, beholding the vibrant lives around him stirred unaccustomed compassion.

The wilds weren’t like town. Once the lively crowd departed, only darkness and emptiness remained. Even the debt ghosts circling her, coveting Yuan Jue’s paper treasure ingots, abandoned the coffin.

The twenty-fifth of the fifth lunar month. The Emei moon hung like a narrow, slitted hook amid scattered stars. Xun Ruosu slowly closed her eyes, anticipating eternal rest after death. Her grave goods were few—just the pocket watch on her person, its mechanical ticking clear and steady, marching inexorably toward the midnight hour.

Ding-a-ling.

Ding-a-ling-ling-ling.

Xun Ruosu jolted awake. The soul-shaking bell rang like it was tied to a runaway dog’s neck, louder than any alarm clock. Then the entire coffin shuddered from a mighty kick, jostling her about. Still, she lay serene, forcing a “benevolent” smile onto her face. She glanced at the pocket watch by her pillow.

The midnight hour had passed. Both her mother and she herself had calculated it precisely: her life would end at twenty-six, on the twenty-fifth of the fifth lunar month during the Xin Hai hour. Life ceased, and one became a ghost.

But Xun Ruosu had strung ink lines in advance and hung the soul-shaking bell, severing the coffin from the earth’s qi at every corner. Even in death, she couldn’t become a ghost that way. Her Xun family kin were never left in peace while alive—clients besieged them ceaselessly, even in bustling cities far from the old home. Xun Ruosu had no interest in reincarnation. She sought only eternal sleep in death.

At last, the coffin lid above rattled. Xun Ruosu gritted her teeth, eager to see which fool stayed up until one or two in the morning to dig graves in the wilds, rousing a peacefully departing soul into a malicious ghost.

The intruder possessed startling strength. With one hand, she flung open the heavy pine lid, revealing a exquisitely beautiful oval face. Xue Tong wore a custom red gown, a pale golden flower mark at her forehead’s center. Her peach-blossom eyes sparkled with mirth. Leaning down, her hair tips dangled before Xun Ruosu’s eyes.

Xun Ruosu’s smile froze. Even as a malicious ghost, she probably couldn’t take this one—it was a fierce ghost through and through.

“Why do all you Xun folks love napping in coffins? So hard and uncomfortable.” Xue Tong looked glamorous on the surface, but pine needles, weeds, and fresh wet mud clung to her arms and gown. She’d clearly just plowed a field.

Xun Ruosu reached out, trying to yank the lid back. She’d seen too many oddities in life. Never mind that Xue Tong still looked human—even a horse-headed man wouldn’t drag her back to work exorcisms.

Xun Ruosu shut her eyes. “The Xun family line is extinct. Take your grievances elsewhere. I’m enjoying my retirement.”