Book Synopsis
Book Tags
Donation Rankings
Comment
0 Comments
You May Also Like
墨書 Inktalez
The winter night arrived early; just past five o'clock, the darkness had already settled in.
Zhao Heitie and the monk sat around a worn-out Eight Immortals table. Zhao Heitie rummaged through a box under the bed to retrieve the leftover fine wine from earlier, when they had entertained some inspectors.
With a respectful demeanor, he stood up to pour wine for the monk. "Master, you truly are a divine being. This first cup is to thank you for saving the lives of all the children in the village. Cheers!"
Zhao Heitie was also a lover of wine. He tilted his head back and downed the contents of his bowl in one gulp with a satisfied "Gollum" sound.
The monk picked up his bowl, brought it to his nose for a sniff, and shook his head. Such wine was hardly worthy of his palate. He could make do with anything regarding clothing, food, shelter, and transport, but when it came to wine, only fine vintages would do.
"Brother Zhao," the monk said with a teasing tone, "this can hardly be called wine. Come on, let me show you what real wine tastes like." Without caring for appearances, he placed one leg on the bench and slapped Zhao Heitie's shoulder heavily, causing him to grimace while forcing a smile.
"Master—no, old brother—don’t be so mysterious! If you have good wine, let me taste it! Then I can boast to the folks in the village that I’ve had celestial brew," Zhao Heitie said with an ingratiating grin.
The monk unfastened a gourd from his waist and thumped it down on the table. Pointing at it, he lowered his voice intentionally. "I’m not bragging; this wine will guarantee that after your first cup, you’ll want a second."
Zhao Heitie looked skeptically at the seemingly ordinary gourd on the table. Just then, the monk gently pulled out the wooden stopper, and instantly, the room filled with an enticing aroma of wine.
Zhao Heitie closed his eyes and took a deep breath, an expression of sheer ecstasy washing over his face—more intoxicated than a newlywed experiencing intimacy for the first time. He swallowed hard and instinctively extended his bowl towards the monk.
When he saw that the monk only poured him half a bowl, he immediately became anxious and exclaimed, "Old brother! You can't do this! How can you pour less than full?"
The monk smiled knowingly. "If you can drink this half bowl without getting drunk, how much more do you want? I’ll pour you as much as you like! What do you say?"
Zhao Heitie was somewhat unwilling to back down; in other matters, he might concede defeat, but when it came to drinking, he was confident that no one in the entire village could outdrink him.
Given his capacity for alcohol, that half bowl was merely a warm-up. With determination in his heart, Zhao Heitie raised his head and drank down the half bowl in one go, even turning it upside down to show the monk.
"Old brother! You see? You've lost! If you knew my drinking capacity, you'd know I'm famous across ten miles and eight villages!"
Before he could finish speaking, he collapsed onto the table with a thud.
The monk looked on with regret, thinking that Zhao Heitie was just like Zhu Bajie indulging in the fruit of life, wasting his good wine.
“Ruan Cuihua, your man has drunk too much. Hurry and help him inside to rest,” the monk called towards the kitchen.
When Ruan Cuihua reached the main room, she saw the monk about to leave and curiously asked, “Master, the food hasn’t been touched yet. Why are you leaving? It’s dangerous outside with all this ice and snow.”
The monk opened the door, and a biting cold wind rushed in. He replied, “I’m going to keep watch at the Ling family’s house. You all should get some rest soon.”
Ruan Cuihua thought for a moment and asked, “Master, you just arrived in our village and aren’t familiar with it. How do you know which direction the Ling family’s house is?”
At this point, the monk had already half his body outside and turned back to say, “Can such a small matter stump me?”
Of course not; how could such a thing possibly trouble the monk? In the entire village, where was the atmosphere most oppressive? That would be the Ling family’s place.
The howling wind mixed with heavy snow stung his face, but these were mere trifles to the monk. Using his lightness skill, he dashed toward the west end of the village.
In no time at all, he stopped in front of a thatched house where the corpse qi was strongest. This was a typical rural three-section house, with its main door wide open, revealing a dark square hole inside that resembled the pitch-black lairs of monsters from Journey to the West.
The monk was accustomed to such sights and felt no fear. He carefully avoided the corpse lying in the center of the room and groped around until he found the last remaining broken oil lamp inside.
The flickering light illuminated the chaotic room. It looked as if a tsunami had swept through; aside from two door panels beneath the corpse, nothing else remained.
The monk shook his head helplessly and muttered a prayer of Amitabha. Then he busied himself. He took out a roll of red thread from his robe. This was no ordinary thread used for sewing; it had been buried in an incense burner for years, infused with the essence of countless offerings—far beyond what an ordinary ghost would encounter.
He then went to the back yard and broke off a peach tree branch, cutting it down to half the length of a pen. He placed nine peach branches around the corpse, each sticking out half a finger's length above ground. Finally, he tied the red thread around these peach branches, enclosing the corpse within its bounds.
Since ancient times, the Peach Branch has been known for its protective properties against evil spirits. In many places across the country, when a newborn arrives in a household, a Peach Branch tied with red thread is hung above the main entrance, accompanied by a mirror. This practice is intended to ward off malevolent forces and ensure the child's safe growth.
The monk clapped his hands, stood up, and checked the ritual array once more. He then took out a Talisman from his robe, on which were inscribed what appeared to be Sanskrit characters in a crooked manner.
With great caution, the monk placed the Talisman on Li Juying's forehead. However, the Talisman was no ordinary item; upon contact with Li Juying's corpse, it adhered tightly to her forehead, as if it had a life of its own.
The wind outside rustled the Talisman, yet it could not blow it away from the corpse's forehead.
Having completed these actions, the monk let out a long sigh of relief, sitting cross-legged to begin his daily meditation practice.
The cold wind howled like the cries of countless Yuan Hun from hell, and the flickering light suddenly extinguished in the chilling gust. The room was plunged into darkness.
At that moment, precisely at midnight, the female corpse lying on the door panel began to move. Her stiff body twisted and struggled, but her movements were limited as if an invisible hand had grasped her limbs. She could only rely on her torso's strength to attempt to break free from her restraints.
The wooden planks beneath her creaked softly. The monk's previously closed eyes suddenly opened wide, his gaze sharp as he shouted towards the corpse: "Abomination!"
His voice thundered like rolling thunder, resonating with a profound Buddha Sound. In the darkness, a faint golden "卐" symbol shot towards the corpse like a sharp sword.
Li Juying's body instantly fell silent and ceased its movements, resembling a true corpse once more.
Seeing that the body had quieted down, the monk continued to close his eyes and recite scriptures in meditation. After a while, he began to hear faint seductive sounds at his ear.
Delicate moans and rapid breaths filled the air. At that moment, he felt as if he were not sitting in a dilapidated earthen house but rather in a warm water pool surrounded by playful women. Each was dressed in white gauze that clung tightly to their curves when wet, revealing their alluring figures.
The monk sensed two soft bodies pressing against his back; he could feel warm breaths laced with fragrance near his ear. A pair of delicate hands slipped through his collar, their icy and smooth touch sending shivers down his spine.
"Bold demon, how dare you disrupt my cultivation? Truly despicable. Do you think an Illusion can trap a Poor Monk? How laughable!" the monk shouted in anger.
With both hands forming seals, he chanted, "Da Wei Long, Shakyamuni Ksitigarbha, Bodhisattva Prajna, illusion of emptiness."
The surrounding scene began to fade away rapidly, as if being rewound, and soon returned to the original pitch-black Thatched House.
The monk pondered for a moment and muttered to himself, "That feeling just now was so damn real; it almost made the Poor Monk stone dead."
He continued to smack his lips, regretting not waiting a bit longer before taking action to better practice his focus. He couldn't help but wonder what that softness pressing against him had been—was it A, B, or perhaps C?
The monk grinned lecherously, his gaze seemingly piercing through the void as he looked toward a certain spot in the distant forest.
This corpse before him possessed only a lingering obsession; it had no ability to confuse one's true heart. Unless...
Comment 0 Comment Count