Chapter 1: Encounter with a Ghost at Midnight

“The sky is bright, the three lights shine, the golden chamber and jade room, five treasures born…” The dim glow of a lamp spilled from the shabby side hall, accompanied by low chanting, drifting through the silent night with a tranquil clarity that refreshed the spirit.

Yet, once inside the side chamber, such serenity was instantly shattered by reality.

The cramped, shadowy room held a greasy offering table draped with red silk, positioned by the window and occupying half the space. Aside from this, there was only a narrow wooden bed squeezed into the corner. Both the table and the bed were crooked and battered.

At this moment, two young Taoist novices sat on a tall stool by the offering table, both around eleven or twelve years old, with delicate features and dressed in faded, ill-fitting gray-blue robes. As they yawned and shook their heads, they recited scriptures in low voices. Suddenly, with a “thud,” one novice dropped his scripture scroll to the floor.

The slight sound was unusually loud in the quiet night, jolting the sleepy boys awake.

“Ah—” The one who dropped his book yawned, rubbing his eyes and slowly stooping to pick it up.

The other, startled, glanced nervously toward the door. “Lingyu, be careful! If Master sees, you'll get the ruler again!”

Lingyu waved his hand carelessly. “Master won’t be back so soon. Tonight’s the full moon—he’ll be cultivating alone until dawn.”

“But Master told us not to slack off when he’s gone…”

“I’m not slacking, just sleepy.” Lingyu yawned again, hopped off the stool, and said, “I’m going to the latrine.”

He lit a lantern and, swaying slightly, left the side chamber.

The chamber’s dilapidation revealed the neglect of the Taoist temple—indeed, it had fallen into ruin over the years. Walls crumbled in places, pillars leaned askew, dust lay thick, cobwebs everywhere, and even the sign at the temple’s entrance had fallen and now lay half-buried in the earth. Except for the main hall dedicated to the Three Pure Ones and their residence—side hall and chamber—all was desolate and broken.

Long ago, this temple had flourished. A millennium past, during the Qin dynasty, the founding emperor witnessed a divine sign here. Thus, the Duke of Chu commissioned a temple atop Whitespring Mountain to honor the Taoist ancestors.

Back then, Whitespring Temple ranked first among the three great Taoist temples of the realm, its incense burning strong and reputation renowned—a sacred ground of the Dao. Yet, time passed, the Qin fell, the Yan dynasty arose, and in chaos, Whitespring Temple’s lineage was severed, its former glory lost.

Since the Qin’s demise, Whitespring Temple lay abandoned for centuries, never rebuilt. Now, only ruins remain, with not a trace of its former splendor.

Three years prior, a Taoist named Xuanchenzi arrived at Whitespring Mountain. After paying respects to the site, he restored a chamber barely fit for habitation and moved in with two disciples. Though poor and ragged, Xuanchenzi conducted himself with restraint. He and his pupils honored the Daoist ancestors, tended vegetables in the garden, lived simply, sought neither incense nor alms, and often treated villagers’ minor ailments. Thus, the mountain folk regarded him as the temple’s master.

Of course, this title lacked any official recognition—he was, by rights, but a wandering priest.

In the realm, all monks and Taoists held certificates for proof; temple abbots required imperial appointment. Without these, one was a wild priest or monk, still subject to taxes.

With no incense offerings and taxes to pay, life was harsh. Xuanchenzi’s strictness made discipleship a bitter fate.

Lingyu, clutching coarse paper and carrying his lantern, stumbled to the latrine behind the hall, loosened his trousers, and squatted.

After a splash and a sigh of relief, he tidied up and stepped out cautiously.

The so-called latrine was merely a deep pit with two boards and a thatch roof—barely functional and quite dangerous. Lingyu avoided it at night, fearing he might fall in—or something else…

He lifted his lantern, his gaze sweeping the shadows of a collapsed palace not far off, black as pitch and frightful at night.

He shrank his neck as a chill wind swept in, hurriedly carrying his lantern back inside. If not for sheer necessity, he’d never venture out at night…

Wait! A chill wind? It seemed to linger…

Lingyu froze, his steps halted.

The chill persisted, icy enough to raise goosebumps. Though midsummer, sweat poured everywhere but his neck, which felt cold.

“Could it really be… one of those things?” His legs trembled, the chill at his neck intensifying, as if someone stood behind him, gently blowing…

“Calm down! Calm down!” Lingyu wiped his brow, set down the lantern, and trembling, formed a hand seal: “Mysterious origin of heaven and earth, banish all evil. Cultivate endlessly, attain divine power. Within and beyond the three realms, only the Dao is honored…”

After reciting the Golden Light Spell, his voice steadied. At “May golden light appear swiftly, protect the true one,” a warmth surged in his mind, a hint of golden radiance.

Though he couldn’t see the light himself, he felt himself enter an indescribable state—fleeting, gone in an instant.

“Oh? A little wild temple novice, yet you can enter the visualization realm…” A soft, feminine voice sounded by his ear, startling him.

He spun around, only to meet a bewitching face.

Willow brows, foxy eyes, pale skin, and scarlet lips.

“Ah! A ghost!” His shriek echoed over Whitespring Temple as he leapt three feet and fled.

A seductive woman in red stood where she was, playing with her hair and biting her lips with a smile. “What a cute little thing…”

She sashayed closer, bent down, and blew cold air on Lingyu’s neck. “Little one, haven’t you noticed? No matter how you run, you’re still in the same place.”

Lingyu paused, glanced at his feet—and screamed even louder.

His legs were running, but the ground never moved!

After the scream, confronted with the impossible, he calmed down.

Regaining composure, he faced the woman in red and soon noticed—the lantern cast her shadow on the ground.

“You’re not a ghost!” he declared.

“Heh!” She laughed seductively. “Do I look like a ghost?”

“Yes!” Knowing she was human emboldened him. He nodded solemnly, “Like a beautiful spirit.”

“Oh? You know what a beautiful spirit is?”

“Yes! Master says, those who look especially pretty are beautiful spirits. The prettier, the more dangerous!”

She arched a brow, laughing until flowers trembled. “You little rascal, quite clever!”

Lingyu blinked, feigning innocence. “Sister, who are you really? Why are you here in the middle of the night? Did you get lost? Was it you blowing on my neck to scare me? Also, what is the visualization realm?”

The lady in red giggled, covering her mouth. “You have so many questions—where should I start?”

In the next moment, her eyes flashed, a red dot in her hand shot forth like lightning.

“Ah!” Lingyu cried out as a yellow talisman dropped from his hand.

“Little rascal, playing tricks in front of me?” She tugged a red thread, one end now wrapped around his wrist.

His hands shook, pain making him gasp. He asked, “Sister, with all that noise, my senior must’ve heard. Yet there’s not a sound—what did you do to him?”

“Oh? You noticed so quickly—clever little thing.” She winked flirtatiously. “As for what I did to your senior… guess?”

Lingyu said, “Whatever you want from me, just say so. Whitespring Temple has been deserted for centuries. We three are but uncertified wild priests, penniless and weak. You, so formidable, surely gain nothing from us. I only ask you spare our lives.”

He spoke so earnestly that the woman in red shed her teasing demeanor, flicked her wrist, and the red thread flew back into her hand.

“Little rascal, tell me—do you know your master’s origins?”

Freed, Lingyu sighed in relief, puzzled by her question. “My master’s origins? I don’t know!”

“Little rascal, if you want to live, you’d better tell the truth!” She stroked the red thread. “When did you start following him, and have you seen anything unusual about him?”

Lingyu replied honestly, “Three years ago, I was wandering in Fancheng. Master caught me stealing buns, said I had good aptitude, didn’t beat me, and took me as a disciple. Soon after, he brought me and Xianshi here. He said Whitespring Temple was once the greatest, though now ruined, Whitespring Mountain remains a spiritual place, good for cultivation, so we settled here.” He added, “I asked Xianshi—his family had too many children, couldn’t feed them. Master passed by two years earlier and took him in. We’ve followed Master all these years, but never saw anything special…”

“Nothing special?” The woman in red’s eyes glimmered with meaning. “You’ve only cultivated three years, yet used a simple Golden Light Spell to enter the visualization realm. How could your master be ordinary?”

“Sister, what is the visualization realm?” Lingyu gazed at her with earnest sincerity. “Master is so strict—we rise at dawn, rest at midnight, recite scriptures daily, never slack. He always says, we’re wild priests without lineage, so to truly walk the Dao, diligence must make up for lack of talent—there’s no other way.”

She was briefly stunned, murmuring, “Diligence compensates for weakness, daily scripture recitation… If one’s mind is pure, it is indeed possible to enter the visualization realm. Could they really be just hard-working wild priests?”

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