Shi Ting did not insist. Instead, he pulled her into his arms and buried his nose in her neck. “Fragrant.”

“How can you smell anything fragrant on someone who hasn’t bathed in a week?” Director Shi really had a talent for saying things with his eyes wide open.

“My wife carries her own fragrance. Naturally, I cannot smell anything else.”

He held her closer. “Don’t believe me? Smell for yourself, my wife.”

Before he could finish speaking, there was a knock at the door outside, and a long slender shadow was cast against the door panel.

“It’s Xiao Yue.”

Yan Qing opened the door. Sure enough, Xiao Yue stood there, carrying a cloth bundle in her hand and signing rapidly with the other: Is this enough?

Shi Ting took the bundle, opened it, glanced inside, and gave Xiao Yue a small nod. “It’s enough. Thank you, Xiao Yue.”

Although Yan Qing wasn’t sure what Shi Ting was planning, she had a faint idea. Shi Ting had already looked up and caught her eye, giving her a wink. “I’m going to need my wife’s help with what comes next.”

That night, the rain kept falling, though it grew lighter and lighter, and by the latter half of the night it had gradually turned to intermittent showers.

Daoist Qianqiu had already fallen into a deep sleep when he suddenly heard a low, muffled moaning sound from outside. He had no intention of paying it any mind, but the sound grew clearer and clearer, as if slowly drawing closer from a great distance.

He had no choice but to sit up in bed and light the oil lamp beside him, holding it in his hand.

Though the rain had stopped, distant thunder still rumbled faintly.

He opened the door and peered outside. The courtyard was empty. The ground, freshly rained upon, was covered in uneven puddles.

Just as Qianqiu was about to go back inside, the muffled sound came again. He tilted his head and listened carefully — it seemed to be coming from just beyond the front gate.

“Who’s there?” Qianqiu carried his lamp over and pressed his ear to the gate to listen. The low, muffled sound ceased again.

He thought for a moment, then summoned his courage, lifted the latch, and stepped over the threshold carrying his lantern. He took a few steps outside. The ground beyond the gate was wet and muddy, and on it were a clear set of footprints.

“Who is it? Come out now.” Qianqiu was startled and immediately looked vigilantly around him. But the surroundings were empty — there was nothing.

Qianqiu figured it must have been some villager passing hurriedly by his gate, and turned to go back inside. But as he raised his lantern, what he saw in front of him made him stagger backward two full steps and land sitting in the mud.

Both wooden panels of the gate were covered in vivid crimson bloody handprints. The blood had run down in streaks along the wood, making for a gruesome and terrifying sight.

He looked more carefully at that row of footprints and discovered that the person who made them had only one foot — this was a one-legged person. And the bloody handprints on the gate panels showed only the right hand, not the left.

Imagining a figure with only one leg and one arm standing just outside his gate moments ago, pounding on it, Qianqiu let out a shriek of terror and scrambled on all fours back through the gate, shutting it at lightning speed. In his haste, he dropped his oil lamp on the ground without stopping to pick it up. Just when he thought closing the gate would shut all those terrifying handprints and footprints outside — the scene before him seemed to remind him: dream on.

The entire ground of the courtyard was covered in footprints. These footprints were identical to those outside — all showing only a single left foot. He followed the footprints to the bedroom door. Every surface — the door, the windows — was nearly plastered with bloody handprints.

Qianqiu felt something sweet rise in his throat. He toppled straight backward and fainted dead away from fright.

By the time Qianqiu came to again, day had already broken.

At some point, the rain had stopped and the sun had come out. Sunlight beat down on his face like a furnace.

Qianqiu sat up, only to find he had been lying in a puddle by the doorway the entire time. Recalling the events of the previous night, he scrambled to his feet in a panic and checked his surroundings — to his astonishment, there were no footprints anywhere in the courtyard, no bloody handprints on the doors or windows. Everything looked perfectly normal.

He rubbed his eyes and checked again. Whether inside the courtyard or outside the gate, everything was exactly as it had been before he went to sleep. Those filthy supernatural traces were simply gone.

Qianqiu was bewildered. If last night had been a dream, then why was he lying in the courtyard?

Just as Qianqiu racked his brain with no answer, he returned to his room. The bedding was in disarray, and in the middle of the bed sat something pale and white. He went over for a closer look — and let out a piercing scream.

It was a white human skull, and on it was attached a long braid of hair. He suddenly thought of the bone pit they had dug the previous day. Every single body in that pit had braids like this.

Qianqiu’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he fainted once more.

When Master Niu came looking for Qianqiu, he found the man sprawled on the floor, eyes rolled back in his head.

“Daoist master, Daoist master!” Master Niu quickly had his men lift him up, poured water down his throat, pressed the acupuncture point below his nose — after all this effort, they finally managed to bring the man around.

Qianqiu looked at Master Niu, his vision unfocused and his gaze unable to settle anywhere.

“Daoist master, the rain has stopped. We can go up the mountain.” Master Niu was frantic. Every day without finding the great tomb was another day of being scolded by his father, not to mention that he himself longed to get rich. With money, he could go to the city — he had heard the women in the city were beautiful, the wine was fine, there were grand trains and automobiles and tall buildings.

Seeing Qianqiu staring vacantly at a fixed point in the air, Master Niu impatiently gave him a shove. “Daoist master, did you drink too much last night? Wake up — we need to go up the mountain.”

Without the Daoist to guide them, they wouldn’t dare go up the mountain rashly. Even if they did, they wouldn’t know where to dig. The mountain range stretched for a hundred li — he couldn’t possibly overturn the whole thing.

But Qianqiu gave no response whatsoever. This enraged Master Niu, who gave him a hard shove and snapped: “If you don’t wake up, I’ll have someone pour water on you.”

In his heart he held some reverence for Qianqiu and wouldn’t dare actually lay hands on him.

But Qianqiu reacted as if someone had stepped on his tail — he suddenly sprang up from the ground, frantically pointing all around the room. “The footprints, the bloody handprints, and the head… over there.”

A subordinate glanced behind him: there was nothing there but an iron basin. Not a single handprint or footprint to be seen.

“Over there, and there too!” Qianqiu screamed. “They have come to claim their lives — claim their lives! Run, run!”

Still saying this, Qianqiu bolted for the door — never mind that he was wearing nothing but an undershirt and wide shorts.

Villagers who saw a wild-haired, raving Taoist priest burst out were startled. As everyone watched the spectacle, someone suddenly recognized him: “Isn’t that Daoist Qianqiu?”

“It really is Daoist Qianqiu — what has gotten into him?”

“The bloody handprints, the bloody footprints, the skull…” Qianqiu kept repeating these words, rushing at anyone he encountered.

“Has he gone mad?”

“Isn’t the Daoist supposed to be a holy man? How can he go mad too?”

“Look at him — he’s clearly gone mad.” Someone pointed at Qianqiu, who was muttering to himself at a pile of cow dung.

In no time at all, news that Daoist Qianqiu had gone mad spread to every corner of the village.

With Daoist Qianqiu having lost his mind, Master Niu’s plans to dig for the tomb on the mountain had to be temporarily suspended. Xiao Yue heard this news from outside and immediately ran back to tell everyone.

Yan Qing was inside changing the dressing on Old Li’s broken leg, while Shi Ting was at the back door speaking in low tones with a child.

Xiao Yue recognized the child as one from the village — his name was Xiao Jin. She just couldn’t understand why Shi Ting would be talking with this child, or what they were discussing.

Xiao Jin listened to what Shi Ting said, nodding repeatedly, then quickly ran off.

“That fake Daoist has gone mad — does that mean they won’t have to dig for the tomb anymore, and everyone can finally live in peace?” Old Li said, clearly delighted. The pain in his leg seemed to ease somewhat.

Yan Qing shook her head. “The Niu father and son have become thoroughly obsessed. If Daoist Qianqiu can’t be cured, they’ll simply go find someone else. It’s a vicious cycle — driving one Taoist priest mad doesn’t solve anything.”

Old Li sighed heavily at that. “Alas — that is simply our fate.”

“Does Uncle also believe in fate?” Shi Ting came over and sat down across from him. His deep, dark eyes were steady and calm. “I believe my fate lies in my own hands, not in the heavens.”

Old Li was first taken aback, then shook his head. “Young man, you make it sound easy. This is the will of heaven. The will of heaven must not be defied.”

“If it were heaven’s will, Qianqiu would not have lost his mind.”

Hearing this, Xiao Yue’s expression became composed as she looked at her grandfather.

“You two — could it be that Daoist Qianqiu losing his mind was because of you?” Old Li seemed to catch on.

Xiao Yue broke into a grin, signing with her hands: She had only provided the props; the actual execution was carried out by Yan Qing and Shi Ting.

“Actually it wasn’t difficult,” Yan Qing said. “The footprints were made by Shi Ting; the handprints were applied by me. The bloody handprints were made with a plant-based dye soluble in water — a little rain would wash them away. Last night there was a thunderstorm and it rained twice while Qianqiu was unconscious, so the footprints and handprints were long gone by the time he came to. As for him — he dug that bone pit yesterday. He may have seemed fine on the surface, but in reality it had already left a shadow in his heart. All it took was placing a skull there to remind him of the events of the day, and the rest took care of itself. This Qianqiu may appear bold, but he’s actually a tremendous coward. He wasn’t particularly hard to frighten, and he broke just like that.”

“Good riddance.” Old Li spat in contempt. “If not for that charlatan claiming there was a tomb on the mountain, Jiuyang Village would not have come to this state. My son and daughter-in-law would not have died. He has brought ruin to countless lives. Never mind going mad — if he were eaten by dogs, I still wouldn’t find it cruel.”

After venting his anger, Old Li gradually calmed down.

“But what do you two plan to do next? You can’t just drive one Taoist priest mad every time a new one appears. The Niu family will eventually trace it back to you.”

“Uncle need not worry,” Shi Ting said. “The root of this problem does not lie with Master Niu, nor with Daoist Qianqiu. Uncle, just watch.”