Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio 11

Yen Chih-hsia spoke with such words, but when Ning Caichen earnestly pleaded for his help to unearth Nie Xiaoqian’s remains, he relented at once, agreeing to see it through—but only this once.

Lin Lai was about to laugh at his tsundere nature, only to be met with an icy glare.

Yen Chih-hsia then barked, “What are you doing out here in the dead of night? Hurry home at once!”

Seeing through his sharp tongue and soft heart, Lin Lai replied obediently, “I understand.”

Yen Chih-hsia was momentarily lost for words.

Only then did Lin Lai take her leave.

The next morning, when Lin Lai went to greet her parents, Madam Xu brought up the previous night’s tremors, still visibly shaken. “Who would have thought there’d be an earthquake in Jinhua County? It was truly frightening.”

Lin Lai hurried to comfort her mother, but thought it best not to mention she herself was the cause.

Madam Xu tapped her daughter’s forehead with a chuckle. “You’ve always had a big heart. With such a commotion last night, you were the one who slept the soundest, as if nothing had happened.”

Lin Lai’s brow twitched, and she couldn’t help glancing at her father sitting nearby.

Master Lin’s gaze was inscrutable, almost as if to say, “And you still deny slaying demons to ascend to immortality?”

Lin Lai couldn’t help but exclaim, “I didn’t! I’m not!”

Madam Xu was startled by her outburst.

Master Lin, unfazed, said, “Luer, your mother was only saying a few words. Why raise your voice?”

Lin Lai: “…” Truly, this was her real father.

But truth be told, Lin Lai had never aspired to become an immortal. Still, she had been pondering how best to use her abilities—and the Vajra Sutra, which had forged a new path with her—to accomplish something of real significance.

At first, Lin Lai merely wished to grow strong enough that no monsters or ghosts would dare approach her; anything else, as long as it didn’t concern her, she wanted no part of. Yet after last night’s encounter with Yen Chih-hsia, his actions inspired her. Lin Lai realized she ought not remain aloof, but take initiative instead of simply minding her own affairs.

Not that she aimed to save the world—only that, for matters of the supernatural unfolding before her eyes, she should involve herself.

To preempt further misunderstandings, Lin Lai decided to explain things to her father before taking action.

Master Lin’s expression was difficult to read.

Lin Lai blurted out, almost reflexively, “I love the mortal world and its luxuries, and I could never be free from worldly desires.”

Master Lin waved his hand. “That wasn’t my meaning. I’m merely grateful to have raised such a good child as you.”

He patted her head. “I’ll respect your choices, but remember: only do what you’re able.”

Lin Lai: “…Alright.”

She left, her face perfectly composed, betraying not a trace of awkwardness.

In short, as long as I don’t feel awkward, awkwardness can’t catch up to me.

It was during this shift in perspective that Lin Lai encountered her first supernatural case.

That day, Lin Lai, dressed as a young man, slipped out to buy inkstones from She County, intending to grind ink as a treat for Chixiao and his companions. She’d had plenty in reserve, but with the family’s recent move to their ancestral home in Jinhua County, she hadn’t thought to bring many inkstones and now had to purchase more.

Walking down the bustling street, Lin Lai overheard many discussing Black Mountain. Not only had there been an earthquake, but many corpses, some freshly dead, had been discovered there, sparking much speculation in Jinhua County. People whispered that the mountain was indeed haunted by powerful malicious spirits, so fierce that even the vast Lanruo Monastery could not suppress them. Now that this malevolent ghost had been struck down by a heavenly thunderbolt, everyone said it was karma at work.

The county magistrate, realizing he couldn’t quell the rumors, ceased all cover-ups and invited many eminent monks and Taoist priests to come and help guide the restless souls, hoping to calm the populace.

Lin Lai didn’t meet any of the so-called high priests, but instead crossed paths with a one-eyed monk.

She immediately sensed something sinister about him; a closer look revealed a dense aura of malice, the mark of one who had committed countless evil deeds.

As Lin Lai pondered her next move, a group of people appeared, led by a man shouting, “That’s him! That’s the blind monk! He’s the one who killed my son!” Several constables followed, calling for the one-eyed monk to halt and return with them to the yamen.

Realizing the situation was dire, the monk turned and fled.

Lin Lai gave chase.

After rounding a corner into a shaded alley, the monk stopped and began fumbling in his robe.

Not giving him a chance to cast any spell, Lin Lai drew the soft sword she always carried and struck.

The sword, well-tended and always at her side, had long absorbed spiritual energy—a natural bane to evil. Even against ordinary men, such a strike would be overwhelming; to creatures of darkness, it was devastating.

The monk tried to parry with his horsetail whisk, but whatever it was made of, it was severed instantly. The sword struck his arm, then, with a flick, his chest. Sensing disaster, he tried to run, but Lin Lai’s sword, wielded like a whip, coiled around his legs. He crashed face-first to the ground with a resounding thud.

The impact sounded so painful that everyone who heard it winced.

By then, the constables arrived, panting. They paused when they saw Lin Lai, but quickly set about capturing the suspect.

This time there was no fear of him escaping again; he wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon.

The grief-stricken father arrived moments later, breathless, appearing to be in his fifties. Seeing the incapacitated monk, he was so overcome with righteous fury that he seemed ready to tear him apart.

Lin Lai followed the case closely.

In fact, when the constables searched the monk and found five small flags, two palm-sized wooden dolls, and a miniature coffin the size of a matchbox, Lin Lai had already deduced his crimes. Once the accuser, Li Hua, presented his case at the yamen, her suspicions were fully confirmed.

This one-eyed monk would command little ghosts to divine fortunes and disasters, using such tricks to extort alms. Worse still, his “charity” was laced with malice—he would predict calamity, demand a hefty sum to avert it, and then personally inflict the misfortune if not paid.

In Li Hua’s case, the monk claimed his youngest son was in grave danger and demanded a hundred taels. Li Hua, unable to produce the sum and suspecting a scam, refused, whereupon the monk, enraged, cast a spell that left the boy writhing in pain. Li Hua rushed home, gathered his savings, and begged the monk for mercy, but he insisted on the full amount. When Li Hua still could not pay, the monk continued his spell until the child died.

Grief-stricken, Li Hua reported him to the authorities.

The magistrate of Jinhua County, already disgusted by such villainy, ordered the monk, whose crimes and evidence were irrefutable, beaten to death with staves.

To Lin Lai, this outcome was deeply satisfying—though she pitied Li Hua, forced to bury his own child.

But for Lin Lai, the case wasn’t yet closed. Because—

“What will you two do now?” she asked in a deserted alley, as she inscribed Dew Branch Amrita talismans, transforming water drawn from a nearby well into sweet dew and feeding it to the case’s two other victims—though calling them “victims” was not quite accurate, for they were now both restless ghosts, with no underworld envoy to guide them on.

What pained her most was that both were so young—the older perhaps ten, the younger only seven or eight.

After sipping the dew, the two little ghosts seemed somewhat revived.

The elder spoke first: “I will go to the underworld, to see if I might have the chance to reincarnate as a human.”

The younger replied, “Brother, your destiny does lie in the underworld, but for us ‘servant ghosts’ to be reborn as humans is no easy feat.”

The elder said, “Compared to our former days as slaves to that evil monk, to have our grievances redressed and win our freedom, unlucky as we are, is still something to be grateful for.”

He bowed to thank Lin Lai before bidding farewell and heading down the road to the afterlife.

The younger remained.

Lin Lai asked, “What will you do?”

“My surname is Zhan, and my parents called me A-Liang. If it pleases you, Immortal Lady, you may call me that,” he replied. “I wished to follow you in cultivation, but I still have a bond with that old man of the Li family. It was because he reported the case that my brother and I could find justice, so I must repay his kindness.”

Lin Lai pressed, “You two weren’t real brothers, were you both killed by the monk?”

A-Liang explained, “We were not blood brothers, but both victims of that evil monk. He used those wooden dolls to enslave us, forcing us to help him spy on people’s fates and fortunes so he could extort them. As for me, my parents died when I was six, and my brother and sister-in-law cast me out. I wandered until the monk, seeing my unusual birth chart, killed me for his own ends. My brother’s fate was much the same.”

Lin Lai bristled. “That villain truly deserved to die.”

“But how will you repay the old man? The path between human and ghost is not the same.”

A-Liang replied, “To tell you the truth, Immortal Lady, Li’s only son’s body is still warm—I can borrow it to return to life.”

Lin Lai frowned. “Are you sure that’s repaying kindness? The man just lost his son—now he must watch his child’s body used by you?”

A-Liang, having gained strange abilities after being enslaved by the monk due to his unique fate, knew much and said, “It’s not as you think. The bond between the old Li and his son was thin to begin with; the child was a creditor from the old man’s past life, here only to collect what was owed this lifetime.”

Lin Lai struggled to accept this. “So you’re saying as soon as the debt is repaid, the child dies? What logic is this? Does the love and care the parents gave count for nothing—just emptiness, as if it were poured into a sieve? And what of this young life—is it merely a vessel for karma?”

A-Liang said softly, “That’s not up to me.”

Lin Lai quickly apologized, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to take it out on you.” Debt repayment might be a cosmic truth, and perhaps children sometimes are said to be “debts from a past life,” but such things are easier to say than to see in action. Especially in cases like the Li family’s, where as soon as the debt is settled the child dies—could anyone really believe that human affection is so easily set aside, that a child’s life is nothing more than a carrier of karma? Lin Lai herself could not accept such a notion.

But A-Liang was innocent, still a victim. Lin Lai could not bring herself to deny him rebirth.

Fortunately, there was no time for her to agonize further, as someone passing the alleyway overheard them and, suspicious, glanced inside.

Lin Lai: “…”