If I had seen a ghost at that moment, I might not have been scared into such a wretched state, but the person lying in the coffin hammered down on my heart like a heavy maul: wasn't that unmistakably my grandfather, dead these many years?

Man Niao Niao, noticing the strangeness in my and Qin Ping'er’s demeanor, initially just curled her lip in disdain—with so many people here, what was there to fear about a dead man? Only when his eyes fixed on the deceased's face in the coffin did his long, straight mouth transform into a dark, hollow hole. His grip slackened, and the coffin lid crashed down with a thud, kicking up a cloud of gloomy, choking dust.

“Master Qinghe… it’s Master Qinghe…” Qin Ping’er murmured, her gaze vacant, her face chalk-white.

Master Qinghe? I leaped up. The one in the coffin wasn't my grandfather, but Master Qinghe, who had raised Qin Ping'er? I suddenly recalled the night Qin Ping'er described Master Qinghe’s appearance to me, and how, in my shock, I had lashed out at her, thinking she had some agenda and was spinning tall tales to trick me. Back then, I’d wondered why Master Qinghe looked so much like my long-deceased grandfather. I never imagined that now I would see Master Qinghe with my own eyes—even if he was dead, he truly looked like my grandfather, strikingly so!

Drawing on some unknown reserve of strength, I hooked my fingers into the coffin lid, arched my back with a powerful thrust, gritted my teeth, and strained my arms to lift the heavy lid once more. With a heave, I shoved it aside. The lid slammed onto the ground with a deafening crack.

The bystanders were frozen in terror, utterly at a loss. Such an action was a profound disrespect to the dead; according to superstition, it invited retribution, entanglement by the deceased’s vengeful spirit. But I scarcely considered such things. I pulled off the very plain hat covering the corpse’s head and was horrified to discover a dull, gray, bald scalp.

I let out a breath, confirming in my heart that this was not my grandfather, merely an old monk who bore a striking resemblance to him. I helped Qin Ping'er up and pointed to the body in the coffin, asking, “Are you certain this is Master Qinghe?”

Tears welling in her eyes, Qin Ping’er nodded sadly, unable to speak.

At that very moment, Hua'er, who had been trying to ram its way into the coffin, stood atop it. Its eyes were unexpectedly brimming with hot tears, and it let out low whimpers, seemingly weeping in sorrow. I froze, unable to snap out of it for a long time. What was wrong with Hua'er? Qin Ping'er was heartbroken because the deceased was the one who saved and raised her. You, Hua'er, are neither related to nor acquainted with the deceased; you haven't even met him—so why this expression of profound grief? Incomprehensible!

Qin Ping’er slowly approached the open coffin, reached out to embrace the weeping Hua'er, and rested her head against its skull as tears streamed down her face. Seeing this scene, my heart gave a violent lurch. Could my Hua'er actually be the black hunting dog that saved Qin Ping'er years ago? Impossible, impossible! I watched Hua'er grow up with my own eyes; it couldn't be more than ten years old. But when the black hunting dog saved Qin Ping'er, she was just born; twenty-odd years have passed. How could it be? Unless… I recalled the uncanny similarity between me and Ba Wuxiang, Qin Ping'er’s past-life memories, and the series of strange events surrounding the Blood Soul Stele. Cold sweat broke out across my back. Could it be that Hua'er is actually the descendant of that black hunting dog? Is there truly some inexplicable, invisible connection between these three pairs—Ba Wuxiang and me, Qin Cheng and Qin Ping’er, the black hunting dog and Hua'er—and did the Master Qinghe lying quietly in this coffin know all about these hidden ties?

My head was a tangled mess; I couldn’t straighten out my chaotic thoughts. I stared blankly at Master Qinghe, a myriad of thoughts swarming in my mind. You orchestrated all this, so why are you lying in this coffin when we finally meet you? What exactly did those four lines of verse you spoke mean? What do you truly understand about the Blood Soul Stele, the Tao Seal, and the Suoluo Divine Tree? And what am I? Speak! Speak to me… By the time I reached this thought, I almost wanted to scream out in a furious outburst. As my vision grew hazy, I inadvertently thought I saw the deceased Master Qinghe slightly curl his lips into a smile. I jumped in fright. When I wiped my eyes and looked again, Master Qinghe was still lying there quietly, eyes tightly shut, bearing an expression of serene release.

I couldn't help but feel a pang of annoyance. You’ve found release, but you’ve left me with so much I don't understand. Why now, when we finally meet, did you choose to pass away? It mirrors exactly what the old Tujia Tima handyman in Tangya did. Am I perhaps a natural nemesis to you people, a nemesis that causes death? — Damn it all!

I sighed, about to tell the room full of stunned people to close the lid, when I noticed Hua'er stretching its tongue toward Master Qinghe’s hand. I glanced over casually, then suddenly my eyes snapped wide open. I shoved Hua'er’s head aside and was horrified to discover a few crooked characters scratched onto the inside wall of the coffin to the right of Master Qinghe’s hand: Nán Liú Chéng (Do Not Leave the City). These characters must have been scratched by Master Qinghe’s own fingernails, as I could clearly see wood shavings still lodged in his nail beds.

Ignoring the meaning of these words for a moment, I was seized by sudden rage. I whirled around and roared at the people in the room, “What the hell did you people do? You put him in the coffin before he was even dead! Is this how carelessly you treat human life?” A man, likely the first to discover Master Qinghe was dead, stammered as he stepped forward, “Impossible, impossible! When I saw him, he was stone cold dead; that’s when I went to fetch the village head… He was truly dead!”

“Then what about these words on the coffin lid?” I bellowed at the man, furious as if scolding my own son.

The man followed my pointing finger to the writing on the inner wall and Master Qinghe’s hand. His face instantly turned deathly pale, even whiter than Master Qinghe’s own face. After staring for a few seconds, he let out a strange yelp, stumbled backward into the crowd, and muttered, trembling, “A ghost, a ghost… I cleaned this coffin myself… I looked closely; there were no words there at all… A ghost, a ghost…”

It truly felt like a haunting. If what the man said was true, were the words Nán Liú Chéng scratched onto the board after the dead Master Qinghe was already laid to rest inside? That was clearly reanimation!

“What’s going on? What’s going on?” A man who looked quite authoritative shoved his way through the crowd, his bloodshot eyes glaring, bellowing loudly, “You sons of bitches! I leave for a moment, and this kind of chaos erupts? Who are you people? What are you trying to do? Don’t you know the deceased must be respected? You dare lift the coffin lid—I say you’re lawless!” This man was furious, pointing at us and roaring without restraint. (A moment: a short while)

“Village Head…” The previous man crawled out, looking like he’d found a savior, his face a picture of misery.

“Get out of the way!” the Village Head roared. “You can’t even handle such a trivial matter properly!” The man’s tone faltered, and he looked at the one called the Village Head with a flicker of fear.

“You, you, you,” the Village Head pointed at several burly men. “Why are you still standing there like idiots? Haven’t you lifted the lid back on yet?” Those big men seemed to wake from a dream and scrambled clumsily to lift the coffin lid.

The Village Head turned to the coffin and adopted an extremely gentle and pious tone. “Master, please forgive these bratty children who haven't even shed their baby fuzz; they don't know any better and have disturbed your rest. I will arrange for incense and paper money to be burned immediately; please rest easy and depart…” I was so angry my backside nearly smoked. I had just been berating that other man like a scolded child, only to have retribution arrive so swiftly; now we were being scolded by the Village Head and labeled as mere “brats”… Damn it all!

As Man Niao Niao and I prepared to explode in protest, we noticed a string of icy glares. Clearly, with the Village Head backing them, the surrounding people had no intention of letting us run rampant anymore. I sighed wearily, subtly signaling to Man Niao Niao to refrain from any rash action. Although these folks had no familial ties to Master Qinghe (remember the boatman said he was a solitary monk?), they were locals. Provoking them too much would certainly bring us no good. Besides, lifting the coffin lid and disturbing the dead had indeed been a rash, emotional act on our part.

It took considerable effort to pull Qin Ping'er and Hua'er, who were clinging to the coffin edge, away. While the group of men shouted orders to tidy up Master Qinghe’s coffin, Man Niao Niao and I quietly slipped out of Nanliu Temple.

Just outside the temple doors, we heard the sound of Tiao Sa'er He chanting erupt from within: “We drank the Mountain God’s wine, offered the Mountain God’s incense, and beat the earth-shaking leather drums! The White Tiger has entered the mountain ridge… Tiao Sa’er He, yo hey…” That final shout was clearly the crowd joining in, their voices loud, rough, and perfectly synchronized!

I stopped in my tracks when I heard the word "White Tiger," but Man Niao Niao pushed me forward. “What’s there to see? Isn't it just those movements like ‘Monkey Climbs the Cliff,’ ‘Dog Urinates,’ and ‘Dog’s Intertwined Legs’? — Where is Brother An right now?” I smirked internally. Why was this unlucky fellow only remembering those specific moves? There were clearly others like "Phoenix Spreads Its Wings," "Rhinoceros Gazes at the Moon," "Fierce Tiger Descends the Mountain," "Tiger Hugs Its Head," "Swallow Holds Mud," and "Village Girl Sifts the Sieve"! Still, I couldn't be bothered to argue with him now.

None of us knew that at the very moment Man Niao Niao pushed me onward, a group of secretive figures hastily departed from behind Nanliu Temple, followed shortly after by another dark shadow trailing them.

Qin Ping’er and Hua'er refused to leave, looking utterly dejected. I suddenly felt lost as to where to go. As I stood there bewildered, the Village Head jumped out of the temple entrance, shouting with a full voice, “Running where? You disturbed Master Qinghe, and you think you can just run away easily?” I jumped in alarm, yet a light dawned in my heart—this old monk really was Master Qinghe.

“What now? What do you want?” I stepped forward to shield Qin Ping’er and Hua'er, refusing to back down.

The Village Head halted, softening his tone. “What is your relationship with Master Qinghe? Why is that girl crying so sorrowfully?”

Seeing the Village Head’s volatile temper subside, I vaguely explained the relationship between Master Qinghe and Qin Ping’er in brief terms. “Right, what is Master Qinghe’s background exactly? Did he always live in this Nanliu Temple? Did he ever travel far away before?” I inquired.

“The elder only returned a few days ago. I hadn't seen him in quite a while. Alas, who knew he would pass away right upon his return? Fallen leaves return to their roots, fallen leaves return to their roots. His whereabouts were always erratic. It is quite possible that this girl he raised, as you say, was found by him. No wonder she cries so bitterly!” the Village Head said, sucking in a breath.

I glanced at Qin Ping’er nestled in my arms, listless and utterly drained of spirit. “Forget it. We won't go back in. Please arrange the elder’s funeral properly. We are in a hurry to find someone right now. Once we find them, we will come back to pay respects at his grave.”

The Village Head nodded. “That’s fine—who are you looking for?”