Chapter 93

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Crackling sounds echoed as a few sticks of firewood were snapped and tossed into the stove. Old Man Wang got up to stir the water that was gradually heating in the pot. After covering it with a wooden lid, he hesitated for a moment before continuing:

“…That boatman wasn’t from our village. It must have been about thirty years ago—his home was struck by a flood, and he drifted here. He became a live-in son-in-law, and after ten years, his wife passed away. He had no children, just two thatched huts by the river outside the village, where he ferried people across. Then last year, he fell into the water and drowned.”

Lu Liangsheng put down his bowl and exchanged a glance with the Daoist before speaking. “A boatman can also drown?”

“A boatman is still human—why wouldn’t he drown?” Old Man Wang poured himself a bowl of cool water and sat down. Raising his voice, he called out, “Wang Tianshi, gut two fish!” The sounds of water being poured and his son’s response came from the courtyard. The old man then moved the oil lamp to the center of the table.

“…You two must be weary from your journey. There’s a spare room next door—I’ll clean it up in a bit, so you might as well stay the night.”

“This Daoist never intended to—”

Under the table, Lu Liangsheng lightly kicked him. Seeing that Old Man Wang was about to leave, he asked,

“Why hasn’t the village invited a Daoist to exorcise the ghost? And earlier, outside the village, why did you say there wasn’t one?”

The old man, who had been shuffling toward the door, paused and slowly turned around. Pressing his lips together, he sighed.

“That ghost, he was actually a good friend of mine. He never harmed the villagers. Besides, he only comes out at dusk, just sitting quietly in the distance. So, we never called a Daoist, nor do we want anyone to take him away. He’s rather pitiful.”

Lu Liangsheng watched as the old man disappeared into the adjacent room, his brows knitting slightly. At dusk, the ghost could already appear?

Outside, Wang Tianshi had finished gutting the fish and was noisily working in the kitchen, grumbling under his breath.

“If you won’t call a Daoist, I won’t come back.” “…You pity that boatman, but do you care that your son is scared half to death?”

“When the time comes and there’s no one to see you off, we’ll see who’s more pitiful!”

Lu Liangsheng and the Daoist, both cultivators with keen senses, naturally heard every word, making them feel somewhat awkward as they sat at the table.

The lamp’s flame flickered. Lowering his voice, Lu Liangsheng murmured,

“At dusk, the sun hasn’t even set, yet the ghost is already appearing. Even Honglian wouldn’t be able to do that, would she?”

The Daoist nodded, tracing the rim of his bowl with a fingertip, watching ripples spread across the water’s surface.

“There’s something unusual here, that ghost is no ordinary spirit.”

In the adjacent room, the two beds were nearly prepared. Hearing Wang Tianshi’s complaints, father and son exchanged a few retorts. As they spoke, they suddenly remembered the two guests.

“Forgive us for making a scene. Ever since his mother passed away, my son and I haven’t gotten along very well…”

With a chuckle, the old man walked into the main hall, but under the dim glow of the oil lamp, there was no sign of the scholar and the Daoist. Only two empty bowls remained on the table. “Ah!” He yelped in fright and quickly called for his son.

Wang Tianshi hastily dropped the fish he was holding and rushed over, only for the old man to grab his sleeve, his fingers trembling as he pointed at the now-empty hall.

“The scholar and Daoist you brought back, they might be demons.”

Even the old donkey in the courtyard had vanished.

Night had settled over the village, plunging it into silence, with only the occasional bark of a distant dog.

Beyond the farmlands, along the muddy country path leading to the riverbank, the dense reeds swayed in the evening breeze.

Rustle… rustle…

The quiet murmur of flowing water mixed with the distant jingling of copper bells. The old donkey, stepping lively, bared its teeth in excitement, trying to bite at the reeds. As its neck bell jingled with the movement, it was gently led forward by the scholar, treading over the scattered pebbles along the shore.

At the ferry crossing ahead, several small boats were moored to wooden stakes protruding from the water, bobbing slightly as they clustered together. As Lu Liangsheng approached, he noticed a dark figure crouching under a patch of reeds not far from the mooring post.

“Excuse me, may I ask if the ferry is still operating at this hour?”

Lu Liangsheng stepped forward and cupped his hands in greeting. As he drew closer, he got a better look at the figure—draped in a straw raincoat, wearing a bamboo hat that concealed most of his face.

“The ferry is open. Please board, honored guest.”

“Much appreciated.”

Lu Liangsheng expressed his thanks, leading the old donkey toward the boats. He glanced at the moored vessels before asking,

“Elder, which one is yours?”

The sound of water lapping against the shore filled the air.

The scholar tilted his face slightly, catching a glimpse from the corner of his eye—hunched over, the boatman had already moved past him. His pant legs were rolled up to his calves, and his bare feet left a trail of wet footprints where he walked.

“This one.” The boatman said as he stepped onto one of the vessels, lighting a paper lantern and hanging it at the bow.

“Take your time, honored guest. This old man will light the way for you.”

The boat had no canopy, but there was just enough room for the old donkey to squeeze on. However, having never ridden a boat before, the creature was clearly uneasy. Its four legs trembled slightly, and it snorted anxiously, making several attempts to jump back to shore. Seeing this, the Toad Daoist in the compartment subconsciously reached for the rope at his waist before finally relaxing.

Lu Liangsheng stepped into the boat, pressing his foot down against the planks, feeling their solid resistance beneath him. He reached out to pat the old donkey’s head a few times before lifting his robe and sitting down. His gaze remained fixed on the boatman as his thin lips parted slightly.

“Elder, let’s set off.”

“Alright, guest, sit tight!”

The old man beneath the bamboo hat responded dully. With a push of the long pole against the shallows, the boat drifted away from the shore, gently turning before he took position at the stern, propelling them toward the opposite bank.

“Honored guest, be sure to sit still. The waters can get rough at times, and if you fall in, it won’t end well.”

The small boat glided silently across the surface, sending ripples outward. The lantern hanging at the bow swayed in the night breeze. Under its dim glow, Lu Liangsheng studied the old man across from him—white beard dripping with moisture beneath the bamboo hat, his face pale and swollen, his eyes bulging unnaturally. His entire body was soaked, and a pool of water had already gathered on the planks where he stood.

As expected, it was just as Sun Yinxian had suspected—drowned to death.

Lu Liangsheng sighed. Leaving him alone like this… that won’t do either.

Just as he reached into his sleeve for his brush, the sound of water rippling filled the air, and the boatman suddenly spoke, as if amused.

“Honored guest, are you feeling bored? Let this old man tell you some stories to pass the time. Everyone who ferries across the river knows—crossing at night is not common. First, it’s not safe. Second, if you ever hear ducks quacking at night, never cross. And if you do cross, never pick up any fabric or handkerchiefs lying on the ground—those who do, well… they usually lose half their life…”

“…That said, I’ve been ferrying people across this river for more than twenty years and never once saw any of those water ghosts the villagers always talk about…”

As if truly trying to entertain the scholar, the boatman chattered on about various village tales, both from within and beyond the settlement.

Seeing that he made no unusual moves, Lu Liangsheng lowered his hand again and simply listened in silence.

“…Thankfully, the village chief comes to drink with me from time to time. But always drinking from others’ offerings isn’t right either. So, one day, after finishing a drink with him, I figured I should return the favor. That’s why I rowed my boat out… rowed out…Ah, my memory’s failing me! Did I even manage to catch a fish for the village chief? It was only yesterday, after all…”

Yet, according to Wang Tianshi’s father, this boatman had been dead for at least a year. His memories, however, remained frozen on the last day of his life.

If that were the case, he clearly had no cultivation to speak of.

As he mulled over this, the boat was already nearing the shore. Lu Liangsheng tucked his brush back into his sleeve. When the bow gently touched the riverbank, he led the trembling donkey ashore.

The Daoist, who had long since crossed the river, rushed over, quickly flipping open his yellow silk bag to retrieve a talisman, but Lu Liangsheng stopped him.

“Don’t act recklessly. The boatman won’t harm anyone.”

“What?” The Daoist lowered the bag and exhaled a breath of mist in the cold night air.

“This Daoist has never heard of a ghost that doesn’t harm people. Even if it doesn’t mean harm, just coming into contact with it will drain one’s vital energy.”

Lu Liangsheng shook his head, disagreeing with the Daoist’s assessment. During the boat ride, he had clearly sensed that the old ferryman did not absorb the yang energy of the living. Wang Tianshi falling ill for a few days was simply due to fright.

“This boatman doesn’t seem to realize that he’s already dead. And he only remembers the day before he died.”
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