Chapter 1: Are There Ghosts and Gods in This World?

Cobblestone path, moss-stained corners, a babbling stream, and continuous whitewashed walls with gray-tiled roofs beside it. A stone arch bridge spans the stream, atop which stands an eight-pillared wooden pavilion, its pillars faded with time.

Inside the pavilion sat an old man leaning on a cane, surrounded by seven or eight children.

He was telling tales.

A boy in worn clothes, about fifteen or sixteen, stood alone by the wall, holding a sack of rice, silently gazing ahead.

One could hear the old man’s voice and the children’s exclamations.

The elder was the village’s oldest resident, advanced in years and idle, so he often told stories beneath the tree at the village entrance—to let the young know the affairs of the world and the rise and fall of history, and to pass on his own life experience and lessons to the village’s descendants. In these times, in rural villages, much was passed down orally from generation to generation.

But when too many children gathered, the storytelling took on a different tone.

From tales of great historical events, it became tales of gods and ghosts.

Such stories had always been popular since ancient times.

Listeners loved them, and storytellers loved telling them.

Lin Jue had often come to listen over the past year.

In truth, he had arrived in this world only a year ago. He had inexplicably appeared in a strange, backward place—few would wish for such a fate—but since he was here, with no other options, he could only strive to avoid spending his life trapped in this small village.

He assumed every world had its own wonders, every era its own joys, and one must go see them.

To leave was not hard, yet not easy either.

It depended on how one went about it.

Lin Jue had originally planned to pursue scholarship, pass the imperial exams, and leave this place—at least to make his presence known to this world.

Coincidentally, trade had flourished here in recent years; most of the Shu family in the village had formed merchant groups, selling local ink, brushes, paper, tea, and timber to the capital, gradually growing wealthy. Moreover, this region was deeply influenced by Confucian clan and rural values; as more families grew rich, they wished for more literate members among their kin, hoping future exam successes would bring mutual support, so they pooled funds to establish a clan school. Even outsiders like Lin Jue benefited slightly.

Thus, he had studied for a year and listened to tales for a year.

Life was frugal, but once accustomed, it became peaceful.

Yet now he had worries—

Last month, his uncle went out fishing and returned suddenly ill, his body covered in sores; soon after, he lay near death.

The original body’s family had been poor in childhood; his mother had been abducted by a peddler, and his father raised him alone. Later, he joined the Shu family’s merchant caravans and earned some hard-earned money. But in the past two years, bandits and thieves had run rampant; two years ago, an entire merchant group vanished after a journey. After that, his uncle took over his father’s role, supporting his food, clothing, and education.

Even when Lin Jue had fallen into the river upon arriving, it was this uncle who risked his life to pull him out.

After his uncle fell ill, his cousin summoned a famed physician from afar, who prescribed medicine. The medicine worked, but it was expensive.

Ordinary families, lucky to have enough food and clothing, could barely afford to support a scholar; the monthly cost of medicine had already drained their savings.

The money left by the original body’s father was also gone.

The Shu family, the village’s main clan, was kind-hearted; every ten days they let him take home a small sack of rice, preventing villagers from starving in their homes.

Lin Jue had just returned from the Shu family’s estate.

According to the physician, to treat this stubborn illness, he must take this medicine for at least three months—requiring at least ten or twenty strings of cash.

But he had no idea where to find such money.

Lin Jue was truly worried.

As he drifted in thought, he snapped back to hear the voice from the pavilion ahead:

“...That man wasn’t a Daoist priest or a ritual master—just a strong, bold fellow who’d drunk too much wine, stayed up half the night fighting the ghost, and when dawn broke, he was utterly exhausted. He looked up—and guess what?”

“There was no ghost beside him—only a piece of skin on the ground, like a torn sack. When the sun rose, it smoked greenish vapor and stank terribly.”

The children listened, stunned and entranced.

But one child’s eyes held a flicker of doubt:

“Second Grandpa, do ghosts really exist?”

Over the past year, Lin Jue had listened to these tales and often pondered this question.

Do gods and ghosts truly exist in this world?

He had never seen one, so he dared not claim they did.

Yet if they didn’t exist, why were the rumors so widespread and vivid?

“Of course they exist! How could they not?” The elder raised his eyebrows. “I’ve told you so many tales of demons and ghosts, many with names and surnames—do you think I made them all up?”

“Have you seen one?”

“Of course I have! Didn’t I just tell you?”

“But the teacher says there are no demons or ghosts—he’s never seen one in his life.”

“The teacher…”

The old man gripped his leaning cane, smiled thoughtfully, paused, then said:

“There are a thousand kinds of people. Some fear ghosts, some don’t. Ghosts are the same—some fear people, some don’t. Thus, some people avoid ghosts, and some ghosts avoid people. The teacher has read the sages’ books, possesses great learning, and carries righteous energy—he scorns ghosts. How could any ghost dare appear before him?”

The children listened, confused, half-understanding.

The elder smiled again, stroked his beard, and said:

“I just spoke of events in the neighboring county. If you don’t believe me, the Wang family’s branch ancestral hall in Heng Village has recently been haunted. The Wang family has offered a reward: ten thousand cash to anyone who dares spend a night sleeping in the ancestral hall. You boys are young and full of fire—dare you go together and sleep there tonight?”

“Really?”

“Don’t believe me? Go ask your parents!”

The children exchanged glances, all frightened.

“Has anyone actually gone?”

“Yes. A few gamblers and drunkards from our village went. Last month, one bold fellow collected the reward; the rest fled screaming in the night, and some fell ill for days after returning.”

The elder added:

“You can go ask if you don’t believe me!”

The children fell silent at once.

Only Lin Jue showed a strange expression.

He had waited here precisely to wait until the elder finished a tale of demons and ghosts, then approach him to ask for advice on earning money—whether through some shady trade, or leveraging the elder’s status to secure him a position in the Shu family’s merchant caravan. Anything to earn cash was welcome.

He hadn’t expected to hear this—

He had heard before of drunken friends gambling to sleep in graveyards, and had heard many such ghost tales from this very pavilion; now they surged in his mind.

He recalled them carefully, thought deeply.

Finally, the boy lifted his sack of rice and stepped forward.

He crossed the bridge along the stream, approached the elder, and, naturally, showed greater respect to the kind, aged man, bowing slightly and saying:

“Shu Taiyeye.”

“Ah, the Lin boy. What is it?”

“You just said the Wang family’s patriarch offered ten thousand cash to anyone who sleeps overnight in the ancestral hall—is that true?”

“Hmm? You’re thinking of trying it?”

Though Lin was an outsider, the elder knew his family’s situation well—he had helped him before. Hearing this, he immediately guessed Lin’s intent.

“Is there really a ghost in the Wang family’s ancestral hall?” Lin Jue asked first.

“How would I know? I told those kids to try it just to scare them—you mustn’t take my words and go yourself.”

“...” Lin Jue fell silent briefly, then asked, “Has anyone actually received that ten thousand cash?”

“Of course. I heard it was a drunkard from the county—big, bold, maybe even trained in martial arts. He went in and stayed all night, came out the next morning, collected the money, and left.”

“Has anyone died?”

“I’ve never heard of it,” said the elder. “A death is a major matter. This isn’t some remote mountain forest—anywhere people live, there’s law. Even if ghosts truly exist, they wouldn’t dare cause a death.”

Lin Jue stood still, thought again, then said:

“Thank you, Shu Taiyeye.”

“You really mean to go? Aren’t you afraid?”

The elder had seen through his thoughts.

“...”

Lin Jue was no true boy—he had thoughts and calculations, but now he said nothing, only bowed deeper:

“Please, Shu Taiyeye, give me more guidance.”

“Sigh...”

The elder sighed. “I’m no Daoist priest, ritual master, or witch—I know nothing of spells to ward off demons. Even if I did, they wouldn’t help you—useful methods wouldn’t be left for you to find.”

He paused, thought again, then said:

“But I’ve often heard: people become ghosts only after death, and ghosts are inherently weaker than humans. Even foxes or mice in the mountains that become spirits at first are only slightly stronger than before—rarely do they possess great cultivation.”

“There’s an old saying: demons arise from human actions.”

“You’ve done no evil, your conscience is clear, you’re young, healthy, and full of vital energy—ordinary demons and ghosts won’t trouble you. If you truly encounter one, never fear. Fear causes mental chaos; chaos scatters your spirit; scattered spirit invites ghosts. No fear brings calm; calm preserves your spirit; with a full spirit, demons and ghosts cannot harm you.”

“That’s why when a household is haunted, they always send someone bold and full of vigor to stay—boldness comes first, vigor second!”

“This applies not just to demons and ghosts, but to human confrontations too.”

“Never let your courage fade...”

Lin Jue listened carefully, his expression calm.

Over the past year, the strange tales from the elder’s mouth had always been like this.

Demons and ghosts were not necessarily stronger than humans.

Humans were not necessarily weaker than demons and ghosts.

Some demons and ghosts bullied people; some people bullied demons and ghosts.

Some even became friends.

Some had fleeting, accidental encounters and brief bonds.

Strange and peculiar, romantic and eerie.

Captivating.

If ghosts and demons truly existed in this world, they ought to resemble at least somewhat the tales told by common folk.

It was still morning; the village below the mountain was very quiet, its dwellings shrouded in a faint white mist. All that could be heard were the chirping of birds in the trees and the sound of flowing water. The boy had already thanked the old man, picked up his sack of rice, and headed home.

He walked, thinking.

He did not know whether the strange events at the Wang family ancestral hall in Heng Village were truly caused by ghosts and demons, or by someone with ulterior motives.

He did not know how this world truly was.

Pay ten thousand cash...

Today, I shall go and see for myself.