Yang Yuwei lived by the banks of the Sishui River, his study facing a vast wilderness dotted with ancient tombs. He often read by candlelight late into the night; outside his window, the wind rustling through the poplars sounded like crashing waves, stirring a deep melancholy within him. Suddenly, a voice drifted from beyond the wall, reciting poetry: “The somber night’s chilling wind blows in reverse, attracting fireflies to the grass, which then dampen the screen.” The chanting repeated, the sound sorrowful, soft, and delicate, much like a woman’s. Yang Yuwei grew suspicious. The next morning, he inspected the area outside the wall but found no sign of anyone, only a purple sash snagged in a thicket of thorns. Yang Yuwei picked up the sash and hung it over his window. That night, around the second watch, the chanting began again outside. Yang Yuwei moved his chair to look out, and the recitation immediately ceased. A realization dawned upon him: the speaker was a ghost. Yet, hearing her poetry, he recognized her superior talent and found himself smitten.

The following night, Yang Yuwei lay prone on the wall, peering into the darkness. Just as the first watch was ending, a woman emerged gracefully from the tall grass, leaning against a small tree, her head bowed as she murmured her sad verses. Yang Yuwei cleared his throat gently. Startled, the woman fled into the wild grass and vanished. From then on, Yang Yuwei frequently watched beneath the wall. One evening, after listening to the woman finish her poem, he continued her verse from across the wall: “To whom are my secret feelings and bitter sorrows shown? As my green sleeves grow cold when the moon climbs high.” A long, long silence followed, and Yang Yuwei returned to his room with a sigh of longing.

He had barely sat down when the beautiful woman suddenly appeared inside, curtsied deeply, and said, “It turns out the young master is a man of refinement. I should not have kept hiding from you.” Yang Yuwei was overjoyed and quickly pulled her to a seat. Observing her appearance—slender and frail, looking chilled, so delicate she seemed unable to bear her own clothes—he asked, “Miss, where is your hometown, and why have you been wandering alone for so long?” The woman replied, “I am from Longxi, following my father’s relocation here. I died suddenly of a virulent illness seventeen years ago, and it has been over twenty years now. The wilderness of the netherworld is lonely and desolate. The poems I recited just now were my own composition, merely a way to express my hidden grief. My talent is limited, and I struggled to complete the verses; fortunately, the young master helped me finish them. I am eternally grateful.”

Yang Yuwei desired intimacy with her, but the woman shook her head: “Ghosts of the underworld are not like living people. If I were to consort with a man, it would surely diminish his lifespan. I cannot bear to bring such harm to you, young master.” Hearing this, Yang Yuwei stopped. He playfully placed both hands on her chest, feeling flesh like a chicken’s head, full and smooth, as soft as a virgin’s. He then wished to admire her delicate feet. The woman lowered her head and smiled, “This passionate scholar is too demanding.” Yang Yuwei took hold of her ankle and gently played with it. The woman’s feet were clad in moon-white embroidered stockings; one foot was tied with a colorful thread, and the other with a purple sash.

Yang Yuwei asked, “Why is there not a purple sash on both feet?” The woman sighed, “When I fled from you last night, I did so in haste and lost one sash. I don’t know where I dropped it.” Yang Yuwei laughed, “I can replace it for you.” He walked to the window, took down the purple sash, and handed it to the woman. She asked in surprise, “Where did you get this?” Yang Yuwei replied, “Isn’t this the one you lost? I simply picked it up.” The woman smiled without answering, bent down to untie the colored thread, and re-tied the purple sash. She then glanced over the books on the table and spotted a volume of Lianchang Palace Verses. She sighed, “This book was my favorite when I was alive. To read it again now feels like waking from a dream.”

The two discussed poetry and literature. The woman was intelligent and charming, and Yang Yuwei was delighted beyond measure. They trimmed the wick by the western window, enjoying each other’s company as if meeting a kindred spirit. From then on, whenever Yang Yuwei recited poetry, the woman would instantly appear. Privately, she cautioned him, “You must not reveal our association. I have been timid since childhood and fear being accosted by rough characters.” Yang Yuwei repeatedly agreed. They enjoyed a deep connection, like fish and water; though they shared no physical intimacy, the depth of their friendship surpassed the affectionate rituals of a married couple.

The woman often copied books for Yang Yuwei under the lamp, her script elegant and beautiful. She also selected one hundred palace verses, reciting and recording each one as a gift for the scholar. Her nature was gentle, and her knowledge vast. Yang Yuwei purchased a chessboard and a pipa (lute), asking the lady to instruct him in scholarship every night.

Sometimes, the woman would play music herself, striking up the tune of “Rain on the Banana Leaves,” a melody so mournful that Yang Yuwei could hardly bear to listen. She would then change to “Orioles Singing in the Morning Garden,” instantly lifting his spirits. They entertained themselves by lamplight, losing track of time, until the first hint of dawn forced the woman to depart with evident reluctance.

One day, his friend Xue Sheng came to visit, just as Yang Yuwei was taking an afternoon nap. Xue Sheng noticed the pipa and the chessboard inside the room and thought, Music and chess are not Yang’s strong suits. Why did he buy these things? He flipped through the books and saw the meticulously copied palace verses, deepening his suspicion. Shortly, Yang Yuwei awoke. Xue Sheng questioned him, “Pipa and chessboard—what mischief are you up to?” Yang Yuwei replied, “Nothing much, just trying to learn the ways of zither and chess to cultivate my character.” Xue Sheng pressed, “Then how do you explain the woman’s poetry?” Yang Yuwei admitted, “That was written by a friend of mine.”

Xue Sheng did not believe him and examined the poems closely. He found a line of small script on the last page: “On such-and-such date, Lian Suo wrote.” He laughed, “Who is Lian Suo? And why hide her from me?”

Yang Yuwei was deeply embarrassed and could not reply. Xue Sheng pressed him relentlessly, even threatening to take the poems away. Unable to refuse, Yang Yuwei finally told him the truth. Xue Sheng expressed a desire to meet Lian Suo. Yang Yuwei cautioned, “She does not like meeting strangers.” Xue Sheng insisted, “Familiarity breeds comfort; I mean no harm, what is the harm in a brief meeting?” Reluctantly, Yang Yuwei nodded his assent.

Around midnight, Lian Suo arrived. Yang Yuwei relayed Xue Sheng’s request to her. Lian Suo angrily retorted, “How many times did I warn you? Who permitted you to speak carelessly and divulge our secret to an outsider?” Yang Yuwei defended himself by explaining the circumstances, but Lian Suo declared, “Our fate together has run its course.” Yang Yuwei tried every means to comfort her, but Lian Suo remained sullen and announced her departure, saying, “I will temporarily hide myself away.”

The next day, Xue Sheng came by. Yang Yuwei said, “I apologize, but you should leave. Lian Suo does not wish to see you.” Xue Sheng suspected he was making excuses. Towards evening, he returned with two other friends. The three lingered, refusing to leave, and made noise all night. Yang Yuwei was extremely displeased, rolling his eyes repeatedly, yet utterly helpless.

This continued for several nights, with no sign of Lian Suo. Finally, the friends grew tired of waiting, and the clamor gradually ceased. Suddenly, a plaintive, heartbreaking voice was heard chanting from outside the window. Xue Sheng listened intently, his imagination soaring. Another guest, Wang Mou, a strong and volatile warrior, grabbed a large stone and hurled it out the window, shouting, “If you won’t show yourself, why act so high and mighty? Always whining and weeping—it’s maddening to listen to!” The chanting outside stopped abruptly. The others couldn't help but scold Wang Mou for his rashness, and Yang Yuwei was particularly incensed, showing clear displeasure on his face.

The next day, everyone left discouraged. Yang Yuwei spent the night alone in the empty study, waiting fruitlessly for the woman for two whole nights. Just as he sank into deep regret, the woman suddenly appeared, weeping, “Your friend was so fierce! You frightened me to death.” Yang Yuwei quickly apologized. The woman sighed, “Our connection is over; let us part ways now.” And she vanished into the ether.

More than a month passed without any sign of Lian Suo. Yang Yuwei missed her day and night; his body wasted away, leaving him nothing but skin and bone, consumed by regret. One evening, he was drinking alone when Lian Suo lifted the curtain and entered. Yang Yuwei wept with joy, “Have you forgiven me?” Lian Suo only wept silently. When Yang Yuwei pressed for a reason, she hesitated, then finally spoke, “I left in anger before, and now I come running back to beg your help; I cannot help but feel ashamed.” Yang Yuwei asked, “What happened?”

Lian Suo confessed, “A ghost emissary appeared from nowhere, forcing me to become his concubine. As a woman of pure spirit, how could I possibly submit to such a vile ghost? But I am a delicate creature, powerless to resist. If you have not forgotten our past affection, I beg you to save me.” Yang Yuwei became furious, wishing he could strike down the emissary with his sword, but the ways of men and ghosts diverged, leaving him helpless. Lian Suo said, “Tomorrow night, young master, retire early. We will meet in a dream.” They discussed countermeasures until dawn, when Lian Suo finally took her leave.

That afternoon, Yang Yuwei drank several bowls of strong liquor to bolster his courage. By dusk, he went to bed and drifted into a hazy sleep. Lian Suo indeed came to him, presenting him with a saber and taking his hand. They proceeded to a courtyard, entered a room, and bolted the door and windows. Suddenly, a tremendous pounding shook the outside; massive stones slammed against the door panels. The woman cried out in alarm, “The enemy is here!” Yang Yuwei flung the door open and rushed out. In the courtyard stood a figure: a red cap, blue robes, a pointed snout, and a face covered in stiff quills. Yang Yuwei couldn't help but berate him in anger.

The evil ghost became enraged, fixing him with a fierce glare and vicious words. Yang Yuwei flew into a rage and charged, drawing his sword to fight. The ghost counterattacked by throwing stones, raining down like a sudden storm. A stone struck Yang Yuwei’s wrist, causing him to wince in sharp pain. Clang! The saber fell to the ground. In this dire situation, a figure approached from the distance, an iron bow slung across his back. He focused his gaze, and to Yang Yuwei’s delight, it was Wang Mou. Recognizing his old friend, Yang Yuwei cried out for help.

Wang Mou had already spotted the evil ghost. Seeing the scene, he remained unruffled. He bent his bow, nocked an arrow, and shot the ghost in the thigh. With a second arrow, he ended its life. Yang Yuwei stepped forward to thank him, explaining the whole affair. Wang Mou laughed, “I offended Miss Lian Suo last time; perhaps saving her tonight will atone for my rudeness.” They entered the room. Lian Suo, seeing a stranger, drooped her head shyly, afraid to speak.

On the wooden table inside lay a small knife, barely a foot long; its scabbard was adorned with gold fittings and jade inlays, extraordinarily luxurious. Wang Mou drew the precious blade, gazing at it as the light reflected off its surface, unable to put it down, praising it repeatedly. After exchanging a few words with Yang Yuwei, he glanced over and saw the woman’s shoulders trembling, seemingly in great fear of him. Her demeanor was pitifully lovely. Wang Mou promptly took his leave. Yang Yuwei also rose to go home but stumbled and fell while climbing over the wall, jolting him awake. He heard the cock crowing at the village gate; it was already dawn.

A throbbing pain radiated from his wrist. Under the daylight, he examined it—the flesh was severely swollen. At noon, Wang Mou arrived at his door to discuss the dream. Yang Yuwei smiled, “Did you dream of shooting arrows?” Wang Mou was surprised, “How did you know?” Yang Yuwei showed him the injured wrist and carefully recounted the entire incident. Wang Mou remembered the peerless beauty of Lian Suo in his dream and desperately wished to see her in the flesh. He pleaded, “Brother Yang, please help me. I must meet the real Miss Lian Suo, no matter what.”

Yang Yuwei said, “You go back and wait. I will give you a reply tomorrow.”

That night, Lian Suo arrived to give her thanks. Yang Yuwei said, “This was all Brother Wang’s doing. He wishes to meet you—what do you think?” Lian Suo replied, “I cannot forget Brother Wang’s immense kindness in helping me. However, his imposing appearance makes me somewhat fearful. How about this: we’ll forgo the meeting. Doesn’t he admire my little knife? I will part with it reluctantly and send it to him. This knife is wrapped in gold thread and inlaid with pearls, worth a hundred pieces of gold. It was originally meant for my burial. I now present it to Brother Wang; let the knife serve as my replacement.”

The next day, Wang Mou came over. Yang Yuwei presented the precious knife, saying, “This blade is not of the Middle Kingdom; it is extraordinary. Treasure it well.” Wang Mou was overjoyed and thanked him profusely.

From then on, Yang Yuwei and Lian Suo reconciled, meeting every night. Several months passed in this manner. One evening, Lian Suo was laughing under the lamp, seeming to have something to say, her face flushed crimson. After a long silence, she finally spoke: “I have long enjoyed the young master’s deep affection. I have absorbed the energy of living people, feeding on smoke and fire. All I need is the essence and blood of a living person as a catalyst, and I can be resurrected.” Yang Yuwei asked, “I have plenty of blood. How much do you need?”

Lian Suo blushed and replied, “Blood alone is not enough; I also require vital jing essence.”

Yang Yuwei asked, “How is that essence obtained?”

Lian Suo explained, “Through sexual union between a man and a woman. However, after the act, the young master will fall gravely ill. Please consider this carefully.”

Yang Yuwei declared, “What is there to consider? To be entwined with my beloved—I couldn’t ask for more. To be frank, I have long coveted your beauty.”

The two went to bed and consummated their desire. Afterward, Yang Yuwei pierced his arm with a dagger, and the dripping blood fell into Lian Suo’s navel. Lian Suo laughed, “The great task is accomplished; I must leave now. In one hundred days, a bluebird will call from the treetop above my grave. Young master, remember to unearth my tomb. Do not forget the date: exactly one hundred days, not a day more or less.”

About ten days later, Yang Yuwei did indeed fall ill, suffering from severe bloating, near death. He sought doctors, took several prescriptions, and had a few bouts of purging, after which his condition quickly healed. He counted the days. When the hundredth day arrived, he personally took a hoe to Lian Suo’s grave. Sure enough, he saw a bluebird calling, and he exclaimed joyfully, “It’s time to dig!” He swung the hoe, breaking the soil and uncovering the coffin. The wooden box had decayed. He opened the lid; Lian Suo’s face was lifelike. He draped his outer garment over her, carried her home, and laid her down. After a short while, a faint, breath-like sound emerged from her nostrils. Yang Yuwei fed her half a bowl of soup. By midnight, Lian Suo finally awoke. She smiled, “Reborn into the world—twenty years have passed like a dream.”