In the sky above Bianliang in April, a fog-like light rain drifted, making the leaves of the elm and willow trees lining the long streets appear even more emerald and jade-like. The rows of dark blue roof tiles and whitewashed walls gained a sense of remoteness and solitude in the rain, which also dampened the city’s day-and-night bustling activity. Despite the drizzle, the area in front of Xiangguo Temple with its blue-green tiles and red walls was still densely packed with vendor stalls selling livestock such as chickens, ducks, cats, and dogs. Behind the wide-open temple gates were also two rows of stalls filled with a dazzling array of various goods and trinkets. People carrying oil-paper umbrellas jostled shoulder to shoulder between the stalls, haggling and chatting with vendors, carrying packages of all sizes. For five days each month, Xiangguo Temple was open to the public, and during these five days, it was perhaps the liveliest place in all of Bianliang.

A Taoist in blue robes without an umbrella slowly made his way through the crowd. His features were handsome and profound, appearing to be around thirty years old, yet his hair had already turned completely white. He wore no cap on his hair, only a green jade hairpin. His Taoist robe was blue, and he had a tall, broad-shouldered frame. On his back, he carried a bundle and a heavy, ancient bronze sword, while in his left hand, he held a plain whisk. Unlike others, he did not browse the merchandise but walked straight through the three gates until he reached the Great Buddha Hall. There, he stopped before the majestic statue of Shakyamuni Buddha, offered three sticks of incense, and then slowly walked toward a monk sitting in a chair by the hall entrance.

The monk watching over the hall was named Yuan Heng, a young monk not yet twenty years old. When the Taoist had entered, he had already sensed there was something extraordinary about this man, especially noting the sword on his back, which made him quite curious. Now seeing the Taoist approaching him, he hurriedly stood up. The Taoist stopped before him, formed a seal with his right index finger and thumb before his chest, and bowed slightly. The young monk quickly put his palms together in return greeting and asked, “Where does the Daoist master come from?”

The Taoist replied, “My humble name is Dan Yang Zi, and I come from the east.” Hearing his deep, steady voice, the young monk felt an indescribable sense of reverence welling up inside him. “This humble monk is called Yuan Heng. May I ask if the Daoist master is traveling through or visiting friends?”

“Neither traveling through nor visiting friends,” said the man who called himself Dan Yang Zi. Then suddenly changing the subject, he asked, “May I inquire if there have been any unusual occurrences in the temple within the past month?”

This question immediately changed Yuan Heng’s expression. But he quickly waved his hand with some embarrassment and said, “Unusual? There’s nothing unusual. Why would the Daoist master ask such a question?”

Dan Yang Zi said, “By unusual, I mean any small matters in daily life that don’t follow the normal course of cause and effect. For example, hearing sounds that shouldn’t exist, finding objects that shouldn’t be there, seeing people who shouldn’t be present, or things or people that should be there but aren’t. None of these situations have occurred?”

Yuan Heng began to stammer. Seeing his hesitation, the Taoist patiently continued, “If you don’t speak of it now, the situation will only worsen with time. Eventually, it will become uncontrollable, and Xiangguo Temple, this place of good feng shui and blessings, may see its fortune and energy dissipate.”

Hearing this, Yuan Heng felt a chill. In truth, there had indeed been some strange occurrences in the temple these past few days. However, the abbot had forbidden spreading rumors, saying it would create bad karma, so he hadn’t dared to speak openly about it. But this Taoist’s gaze held a hint of sharpness within its coolness, and his tone was so certain, almost as if he already knew something strange was happening here. Yuan Heng wondered if perhaps he was a Maoshan Taoist with some experience in ghost-catching. Their temple’s abbot, though deeply learned, had never deigned to believe in rumors of demons and ghosts, ignoring these strange occurrences. In the end, it was the lower-ranking monks like themselves who suffered… Perhaps it would be better to tell this Taoist about it.

“Actually… there have indeed been some strange events…”

If one were to trace the origin of these strange occurrences, they began about a month ago. That night, after washing up and returning to his quarters, Yuan Heng had read scriptures for a while before crawling into bed. His roommate, Brother Yuan Jing, was already asleep. Nights in the temple were usually more secluded than elsewhere, even in a prosperous temple like Xiangguo. Apart from the occasional passing vehicles outside, there was no other sound, making even the slightest movement clearly audible.

Yuan Heng’s bed faced a window, through which the shadow of an ancient locust tree was cast upon the window screen, swaying gently with the night breeze. Every night, Yuan Heng would watch this shadow sway until his eyelids grew heavy and he would quickly sink into dreams. But this particular night, just as he was slipping to the edge of sleep, a rustling sound pulled him back to wakefulness.

In the darkness, he heard someone mumbling scriptures. It was around the fourth watch of the night—what madness had gotten into Yuan Jing at this late hour? Yuan Heng propped himself up to look at Yuan Jing’s bed and saw him sound asleep with his head covered. Though he wasn’t snoring, his breathing was deep and long, with no sign of having gotten up. Yet the scripture-reciting sound still floated through the pitch-black room like an undercurrent or a hidden wind—not loud, but indistinct and difficult to locate, and… it seemed to be right by his ear.

Thinking this, Yuan Heng shuddered. Could there be… someone else in the room? He quickly got up and carefully examined every corner. Their monk’s quarters weren’t large, basically just squeezing in two beds, a wooden wardrobe, and a wooden rack for washing and hanging clothes. He gently opened the wardrobe door to find it packed full of monk’s robes, bedding, and mosquito nets—nowhere for anyone to hide. Relieved, he lay back down on the bed, his eyelids growing heavy again. Even the indistinct murmuring of scripture seemed to become distant.

“Let me in.”

Yuan Heng was suddenly wide awake. The voice had just spoken as if someone were whispering right by his ear. He could even feel the breath on the fine hairs of his ear. Yuan Heng jerked his head around and, through the faint moonlight, saw Yuan Jing sitting bolt upright on his bed opposite, facing him, eyes wide open, staring at him expressionlessly.

Yuan Heng backed away in fright, pressing against the wall behind him, and cursed, “What kind of madness are you up to in the middle of the night?” But Yuan Jing didn’t respond, continuing to stare at him blankly for a while before suddenly lying down again. Soon after, he was emitting light snores.

Was it sleepwalking? Was Yuan Jing the one who had spoken? But Yuan Jing had clearly been sitting on the bed, while the voice had sounded right by his ear…

Having been awakened twice like this, Yuan Heng couldn’t fall back asleep and remained awake until dawn. He thought it might have just been that one night, but unexpectedly, three days later, around the fourth watch, Yuan Heng woke up again. That night, the moonlight was dim, and the darkness heavier than usual. The wind howled outside the window, but he could still hear the same rustling recitation of scriptures he had heard three days before.

The tree shadows outside the window were still swaying, but somehow they seemed different from usual… as if… there were more branches? And the way those branches swayed also caused some concern. At first, he couldn’t pinpoint what was wrong, but the longer he looked, the more he began to notice something spine-chilling… The way those branches swayed was too deliberate. They didn’t look like they were being blown by the wind, but rather like… something extremely thin and long deliberately swaying and twisting its limbs, imitating branches.

An inexplicable fear welled up, and Yuan Heng pulled the blanket over his head. In the darkness, he could only hear his own breathing and heartbeat, but even his racing heart couldn’t calm him down. Throughout the room, there pervaded an eerie atmosphere and a faint stench. At first, Yuan Heng thought Yuan Jing had passed gas, but this smell was too strange—more like the putrid stench of food that had been left to rot for a long time.

Before dawn, Yuan Heng finally began to feel sleepy. But just at that moment, he heard that whisper again: “Let me in.”

After several days like this, Yuan Heng’s mental state deteriorated, so he told his master, Dharma Teacher Guan Yi, about the matter. Only then did he learn that several other fellow disciples had also heard the scripture recitations and seen strange shadows, but after asking around, no one admitted to reciting scriptures at night. One or two physically weaker brothers had even fallen ill because of this, and everyone else’s mental state was deteriorating day by day.

Master Guan Yi reported this to the abbot, Dharma Teacher Guan Yun, but the abbot dismissed it, believing some mischievous young monks were deliberately causing trouble, and forbade the monks from privately spreading the matter further. Everyone had no choice but to keep silent. However, the situation did not improve. By mid-month, one night Yuan Jing suddenly got up in the middle of the night and opened the door but didn’t go out, just stood in the doorway looking outside. Half-asleep, Yuan Heng asked what he was looking at so late at night, but Yuan Jing asked in return, “Didn’t you hear someone knocking just now?” Yuan Heng was puzzled: “No?” Yuan Jing made a sound of acknowledgment and went back to sleep.

But after that night, Yuan Jing’s entire personality changed strangely. He rarely spoke to Yuan Heng, and when he did, his tone was odd and unpleasant. Once, Yuan Heng even overheard Yuan Jing badmouthing him to another monk behind his back. Yuan Jing had always had the best relationship with him, but lately, he seemed possessed, and they would start arguing after just a few words.

And it wasn’t just Yuan Jing. In the past half month, incidents kept occurring in the temple, with monks frequently getting into disputes. There had been three or four cases of physical altercations, more than in the past two years combined, and all over trivial matters. The abbot seemed furious enough and severely punished those monks who had engaged in physical fights. But even so, the entire Xiangguo Temple was filled with a suppressive atmosphere, as if an invisible string was stretched taut between the monks, ready to snap at any moment.

Additionally, there was that lingering putrid smell, like a persistent parasite, floating in the air at all times. It was in the dormitories, the scripture halls, and the meditation rooms. Yuan Heng had heard from Yuan Qing, a young monk who worked in the kitchen, that food was spoiling unusually quickly these days. Sometimes cabbage bought just the day before would be covered in thick green mold by the next day, and the rice in the storage jars was filled with maggots and covered in spots of mildew.

After listening to Yuan Heng’s detailed account, Dan Yang Zi made a soft sound, his eyes fixed on the compassionate face of the Buddha statue. “Indeed, the ghost is here.”