The saying goes that those who have taken a life will be haunted in their dreams by the vengeful spirits of those they wronged, slain by their own blade. Wang Jue lay upon the ground, sleeping soundly, and one wondered if he would dream of the vengeful souls he had just brutally murdered being called to collect their due. Just the five lives taken by the security guards alone guaranteed he wouldn't escape the long arm of the law, but adding the fifty-one other deaths meant his remaining life would be a torturous calculation, likely culminating in a death sentence even within the prison walls.

Glancing around, finding no other living villagers, no one to offer aid, I had no choice but to lift Wang Jue onto my back. I paused to rest every few steps until sweat drenched me, finally managing to haul him up the mountainside.

Halfway up, Hua Gu came to meet us and helped me lower Wang Jue from my back. The woods were strung with yellow spirit papers, every tree plastered with talismans. A high monk sat beneath a tree, rhythmically tapping a wooden fish, murmuring sutras. They had already dug a pit in the center of the grove and placed Hua Jinlan's body inside, positioning two candles and three sticks of incense at the head of the grave.

Hua Gu called out to the high monk. He set down the wooden fish and walked over, instructing us that we were to move Wang Jue next to Hua Jinlan. Thus, three of us—one holding the head, two managing the feet—shifted Wang Jue to lie beside Hua Jinlan, one in the pit and one outside it, lying side-by-side. The high monk lit an oil lamp and placed it near their feet, saying it would illuminate the path to the Yellow Springs for Hua Jinlan.

“It’s three or four hours until dawn. What happened just now?” Hua Gu squatted beside Wang Jue, helping to tidy his blood-soaked clothes, and looked up to ask me.

How could I tell her? Wang Jue was the one lying there, and although the vengeful spirit who committed the murders was Hua Jinlan, all of this was inextricably tied to my dear friend. I believed that while I couldn't help him evade legal retribution, I could at least keep the nightmare of this night from others. Lying was wrong, but maintaining silence was my right.

So, I glanced toward the high monk beside us and smiled at the two women, saying, “Nothing much. We’ll just wait here. We’ll perform the rites when the sun rises. Sending Hua Jinlan back to the cycle of reincarnation is an act of boundless merit.”

The high monk nodded at me, his gaze lingering on the bloodstains covering Wang Jue and myself. There was a hint of suspicion in his eyes, yet he quietly settled down to wait for sunrise alongside us.

During this time, silence reigned. The rhythmic sound of the wooden fish and the chanting echoed through the woods. The air was thick with the scent of incense and candles, and a whispering wind caused the talismans hanging in the trees to rustle. After an unknown duration, the eastern horizon began to lighten faintly, the deep black of the night sky washed over with a pale gray. Soon, the sun would appear.

The high monk changed his position, moving from beneath the tree to sit directly in front of Hua Jinlan and Wang Jue, settling into a cross-legged posture. He placed the wooden fish to his right and drew a cinnabar pen and ink from his robes, setting them to the left of the fish. He re-lit two candles, offered three sticks of incense, and took out a stack of yellow spirit papers, each densely inscribed with scripture in fine, regular script. Placing these directly before him, he began chanting the mantras in a soft, repetitive drone.

Upon finishing one sheet of the spirit paper, he used the cinnabar pen to make small circles and dots upon it, writing Hua Jinlan’s name and dates of birth and death last. He casually held the paper to the candlelight, burning it to ash so it could be carried away by the wind, then moved to the second sheet. By the time he completed the forty-ninth sheet—seven cycles of seven—the day was bright, the crimson sun ascending from the east, and this final sheet of paper dissolved into ash in the candlelight.

With a sharp gasp, Wang Jue awoke from his dream, sitting bolt upright and startling both me and Hua Gu.

“Where am I?” He looked down at his own blood-caked clothing, shivered, and gazed at us with questioning eyes.

The high monk was still chanting; the stack of spirit papers was not yet exhausted. Wang Jue saw that he lay next to Hua Jinlan’s corpse. Though doctors are not afraid of the dead, the sight startled him momentarily. He scrambled up, rushed over to my side, and asked in astonishment, “What… what happened here?”

I motioned for him to calm himself and sit quietly to listen to the high monk finish his sutra. Wang Jue then looked at Hua Gu, whose expression was equally grave and silent.

Having no alternative, he sat down beside us, waiting for the high monk to finish burning the remaining spirit papers.