Chapter 25

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Qi Wuhuo’s fingers glided across the strings of the qin.

His skill with the qin had only reached its current state after meeting the Mountain God, Qiong Yu, in his dreams.

Over the course of decades within the dream, he had experienced the highs and lows of life, and after learning the blurry truth about dreams and reality at the Li family residence, his understanding deepened further. His music now seemed to carry the life insights of the elusive Master Wuhuo from his dream, resonating with the hearts of listeners. For the young, it stirred ambition; for the old, it brought memories of life’s ups and downs, touching upon their innermost feelings.

Even these wandering souls, twisted and controlled by the reverse use of the [Lingbao Nine Underworlds Long Night Profound Chapter of Raising Corpses and Delivering Souls], were faintly affected.

Their frenzied state seemed to weaken slightly.

But it was only a slight change.

In the courtyard, the Yin Qi continued to flow, with cold winds swirling. The sunlight couldn’t pierce through the gloom, and the auras of the manipulated ghosts fluctuated wildly. Through his Primordial Spirit, Qi Wuhuo could see the struggle on their faces. Yet, no matter how earnestly he played, how wholeheartedly he immersed himself in the melody, he couldn’t calm their tormented souls.

The young man pressed his lips together, continuing to play with unwavering dedication.

The old man chuckled and shook his head.

Previously, without intention, yet able to perform divine abilities.

But now, the more you focus and push yourself, the less effective it seems.

He stroked his beard and laughed: “Don’t be so tense. A person who’s too tense can barely write properly—how could they play the qin well?”

“The qin is the voice of the heart.”

“The heart, nature, and the spirit.”

“When playing the qin, it is naturally essential for the Primordial Spirit to participate; this is a natural process. If you deliberately try to control the Primordial Spirit, you will instead lose its subtlety.”

“Wuhuo, take heed.”

“Let your heart be calm, let your qi and spirit merge naturally, and let things take their own course without guidance.”

“This is what is meant by [soft and continuous as if it exists, used without effort].”

“Whether it’s the melody of the qin or the so-called divine abilities, they are merely manifestations of this principle.”

Qi Wuhuo had been tightly wound, determined to help these wandering souls pass on, and his body unconsciously tensed. The old man’s gentle words, however, gradually eased his focus. His fingers, once stiff on the strings, now played with a more natural flow, and his mind began to relax. Suddenly, he asked: “Old Sir, do you also know the qin?”

“The qin? No, I don’t,”

The old man replied with a smile, stroking his beard. “What I speak of is.”

“The Dao.”

Qi Wuhuo smiled and continued playing, following the old man’s advice. Whenever he made a mistake, the old man would correct him, but the corrections weren’t about missed notes or mistakes in the score. Rather, they were about whether the music aligned with his heart and spirit.

Gradually, Qi Wuhuo’s playing became less bound to the music score and more natural and free-flowing.

The old man claimed he didn’t know the qin, yet under his guidance, Qi Wuhuo felt himself playing more fluidly.

Seventy years of Yellow Millet Dreams passed like the blink of an eye, a repertoire of three thousand songs, and musical knowledge as vast as the heavens and earth.

Now, it all came together as one.

After seeing a thousand swords, one knows the weapon; after playing a thousand pieces, one understands the sound.

Qi Wuhuo’s expression became serene and peaceful.

As the melody of the qin continued, the resentment and madness on the faces of the wandering souls slowly faded, and the chill in the air gradually dissipated. The souls began to return to their original forms. Some were young women, delicate and graceful, with rope marks around their necks; others were burly young men, their bodies pierced by swords. There was even one spirit who had no head, just a headless body remaining.

Qi Wuhuo placed his hand on the strings, gradually bringing the music to a stop. The melody faded, leaving only a faint lingering resonance.

“This is…”

The music from the qin had dispelled the resentment from the wandering souls, allowing them to gradually return to a semblance of their former selves.

But the sight of their tragic conditions caused Qi Wuhuo to raise his eyes slightly.

The old man, still brewing tea, shook his head and said: “They all seem to be souls who died unjustly. Who knows how many of them took gold from that evil cultivator, only to be secretly harmed by his spells.”

As they regained their awareness.

The delicate young woman, her mind now clear, suddenly looked dazed and confused. “I, how did I end up here?”

“My mother… where is my mother?”

She frantically looked around in panic, her voice trembling:

“But the kind-hearted Daoist gave me three taels of gold. My mother’s illness was supposed to be cured, so why am I here?”

“I need to find someone to treat my mother!”

“Where’s my gold?”

“Where’s the gold?!”

She desperately searched herself, her translucent face showing signs of distress, her eyes welling up with tears as she anxiously looked for the gold that was no longer with her.

Qi Wuhuo’s hand, which had been pressing down on the qin strings, suddenly felt heavy.

With just a few words, he understood how this young woman had ended up among the ghosts controlled by Tantai Xuan.

“A curse was placed on the gold… to drive her to suicide…”

The girl, her soul scanning the surroundings, locked her gaze onto Qi Wuhuo, [the only person] she could see. Biting her lip, she asked in a trembling voice:

“Young Sir, do you, do you know where my money is?”

“Please, please, I’m begging you.”

“That was the money to save my mother’s life, please, can you return it to me?”

In her desperation, her words became incoherent, and she fell to her knees, pleading.

Qi Wuhuo quickly stood up, stepping aside to avoid it, and reached out to help her.

But his hand passed straight through the hands of the girl who was only a few years older than he was.

Qi Wuhuo paused for a moment, then said gently:

“That Daoist… he gave you gold?”

The girl bit her lower lip:

“I spent a night with him.”

The blue-robed youth closed his eyes briefly, then knelt down, channeling his Primordial Spirit, and gently helped the girl stand.

His palms were warm and clean.

It brought the young girl a rare sense of warmth, something she hadn’t felt in a long time.

But he eventually stepped back, letting his hands fall to his sides. He looked at her with eyes full of compassion and sadness, and softly said:

“But, you’re already dead…”

Those few words seemed to carry a strange, almost magical power. The young girl stood frozen for a moment, and memories, long forgotten due to the torment of being refined by the evil technique, resurfaced. She staggered back several steps, her face contorted in pain. Her body shook as she collapsed to the ground, covering her face with her hands and crying:

“Mother…”

“My mother’s illness…”

Qi Wuhuo pressed his lips together, looking around at the others, seeing those people slowly regaining their memories. Some had taken a job transporting goods for the Daoist and unknowingly became tainted by his underworld energy; one was a humble breakfast vendor who had offered the ragged Daoist three steamed buns and a bowl of water out of kindness. Others included a doctor, a farmer…

Qi Wuhuo listened to their stories.

The old man, with gentle eyes, stood by calmly, observing the young man.

He did not immediately lend a hand.

Let’s see how he will handle himself.

[See life and death].

“Young Sir, you can see us, can you help us… Is there really no way for us anymore?”

“Please, please, you have such powers. “

“Can you help us? Please show us some mercy!”

“I still have a wife and children back home…”

Qi Wuhuo stood in silence for a moment, then cupped his hands respectfully and replied:

“I don’t have such divine abilities. I cannot do what you’re asking…”

The souls around him grew despondent.

After a brief pause, the young man turned and walked back into the house. He retrieved paper and brush, then spoke softly: “However, if any of you have unfulfilled wishes or messages you want to pass on to your families, please tell me… While I don’t have the divine abilities to change your fate, I can at least deliver your words.”

The escort guard fell silent for a moment before giving a carefree smile. In true Jianghu fashion, he cupped his fists and said:

“Then, Young Sir, please tell my wife that I’ve hidden some silver beneath the bricks in the wall. I kept it hidden because I was worried our unfilial son was too extravagant. I was planning that once our son settled down, she and I would return to the countryside, buy a small house with a vegetable garden, raise some chickens and ducks, and grow old together. But it looks like that won’t happen now.”

The vendor who sold morning snacks from a small cart sighed and said:

“I don’t have much to say, except to tell my son not to be greedy for petty gains.”

“Fair trade is the only way he’ll be able to use his craft to support the family in the future.”

Finally, the young girl knelt again, her voice choked with sobs as she said:

“If you, Young Sir, ever travel to Zhongzhou Prefecture City, please go to the Shui Li Town, which is under its jurisdiction, and check on my mother.”

“Tell her that daughter is unfilial… and that I won’t be able to see her again.”

Seated beside the stone table where he had just been playing the qin, the young man dipped his brush in ink and wrote down their words.

These words filled a whole piece of paper.

He realized that a person’s life and death could be reduced to a few lines of text, a stroke of ink.

Qi Wuhuo stood up, cupping his hands together, and softly said:

“Your wishes, I…”

He hesitated, feeling that using [ I ] was not solemn enough, perhaps not enough to convey the gravity of the promise. He wanted these souls to trust him, to feel secure in his words.

The old man gave a small cough.

The blue-robed youth fell silent, then bowed respectfully, and in a gentle voice, he said:

“Your wishes.”

“Pindao will fulfill them.”

[TL_Note: Pindao = This humble daoist]

P.S.: “Soft and continuous as if it exists, used but not exhausted” — Daodejing, Chapter 6.