Wei Xun didn’t know why he had lingered so long. The atmosphere in that great hall, the old monk’s endless murmuring narration, seemed to possess some mysterious power that dragged people into the quagmire of forty years past, unable to extricate themselves.

Though Tan Lin repeatedly emphasized his hope that Wei Xun wouldn’t “repeat past mistakes,” Wei Xun couldn’t see what was worth referencing in this story. Yuan Xu had been murdered and his remains lost, while Bao Zhu had suffered this same ordeal from the beginning and pulled through.

Excluding old sixth Pang Liangji, the entire sect of twelve people couldn’t assemble a single complete extended family between them – each had their own tragic circumstances. Chen Shigu’s experience didn’t seem particularly novel either. His descent into demonic obsession lay in having nowhere to vent his fury. If he had taken revenge that very night, perhaps the matter would have been settled long ago.

Racing back to the guest hall, Wei Xun immediately saw Bao Zhu kneeling prone by the pond’s edge, stretching her arms trying to pluck a lotus flower but unable to reach it no matter how she tried, looking as though she might tumble into the pool.

He laughingly stopped her: “You’re about to become a drowned chicken!” As he spoke, he leaped to the artificial mountain rocks in the pond’s center, asking: “Which one do you want?”

Bao Zhu pointed at her target and called out: “The one that’s just showing its lotus pod!”

Wei Xun extended his arms to pluck the lotus flower, bounded back to shore, and handed it to her still glistening with dew.

Bao Zhu had just finished bathing, her body emanating warm steam. She deeply inhaled the flower’s fragrance and said with satisfaction: “This is exactly what I needed. The smell in this ancient temple is too strange – burning incense to mask corpse stench just makes things worse. I must smell this natural fragrance to clear my mind and maintain proper thoughts.”

She held it up to her temples, saying regretfully: “It’s a pity lotus flowers aren’t suitable for hair ornaments – the stem sap would dirty my hair. My lotus crown is still better… you smell it too.”

Bao Zhu held the flower up to Wei Xun’s face. He pretended to sniff it, but actually thought that no flower could compare to her own elegant fragrance. Sometimes when she removed her sachets and stuffed them in the luggage, her body still smelled wonderful – it didn’t seem entirely due to the dragon brain incense. Unfortunately, after smelling it, his mind would wander restlessly, making proper thoughts difficult to maintain. Better to keep his distance.

Wei Xun shared all the information he’d gathered from the lime pit and Tan Lin. Wu Guancheng’s final work before death was surprisingly the same subject as the murals in the Guiwuchang Hall – the Nine Aspects paintings. But this wasn’t commissioned by Dachan Temple; rather, during the ten days he went missing, monks in the temple had seen him painting this. They said he painted with demonic frenzy at the time, ignoring anyone who called to him.

The two immediately set out for where the murals were located.

The nearest place was the first floor of the pagoda to the northwest. A coffin sat in the center of the tower’s base, with circular walls and dome covered in murals of flying apsaras offering flowers. Amid swirling clouds, celestial maidens wrapped in flowing silk danced through the air, scattering petals everywhere – graceful and moving, very beautiful Buddhist subject matter.

However, one side against the wall had been abruptly painted over with blank space, on which a realistically rendered decomposing corpse was depicted. Its lifelike quality made even Bao Zhu unwilling to approach for a closer look.

After observing the corpse in the mural for a while, Wei Xun said: “Though Tan Lin’s talk of Nine Aspects meditation was mystical nonsense, the sequence of the Nine Aspects paintings does match the actual process of corpse decomposition very closely.

First aspect: fresh death; second aspect: bloating; third aspect: purulence; fourth aspect: blood staining; fifth aspect: putrefaction; sixth aspect: insect consumption; seventh aspect: dismemberment; eighth aspect: bone exposure; ninth aspect: dry bones. Flies buzzing, maggots gnawing at the corpse – this should be the sixth aspect of insect consumption. I must say, Wu Guancheng’s skill is quite good; he painted it very realistically.”

Upon hearing this, Bao Zhu dared approach even less and called out: “Whose coffin is this?”

Wei Xun walked back to the coffin and knocked on it with his knuckles, listening to the sound with an expert’s tone: “Ebony wood – good material. Whoever’s inside was either wealthy or noble.”

He turned to the inner side and discovered a funeral couplet pasted on it reading: “Madam Duan, wife of the Secretary, her benevolence endures through the ages.”

Wei Xun said: “This Madam Duan should be remains entrusted to Chanchan Temple by family members. Many temples undertake this business – when burial sites aren’t ready yet, or they’re waiting for joint burial and can’t be interred immediately, they’re first placed in temples for vigil, and relatives pay a large sum in merit money.”

Beside the coffin were three types of offerings: fresh flowers, fruits, and eternal lamps. The incense burner burned continuously. From the lavish offerings, this was clearly a family of means.

After pondering a moment, Wei Xun consulted with Bao Zhu: “Should I open the coffin to look?”

Since they’d already come this far and had no other leads, Bao Zhu could only nod in agreement, then retreat far away.

Wei Xun hadn’t brought tools, but with his Dying Light techniques, he pulled out the coffin nails one by one barehanded, then pushed open the heavy coffin lid. Rich incense scent mixed with corpse stench assaulted his nostrils. Fortunately, Chanchan Temple had extensive experience handling remains – the coffin bottom was filled with lime, while the corpse’s upper layer was covered with much precious benzoin incense. Using every method available, the smell was barely tolerable.

Wei Xun examined carefully. This was a shriveled, withered female corpse, its bodily fluids completely absorbed by lime. She’d been dead several months. From her hairstyle and clothing, she appeared to be a married woman, though her age was hard to determine. Moreover, she wasn’t in the maggot-eaten state depicted in the mural, but rather in the seventh aspect of dismemberment.

He touched the corpse’s hair bun, and thick black false hair fell away, revealing graying natural hair underneath. He estimated this woman was over fifty years old.

Bao Zhu called from a distance: “Anything strange?”

Wei Xun shook his head: “Nothing problematic. She died quite peacefully.” He replaced the false hair on the corpse and closed the coffin lid again, saying: “Let’s go check the next place.”

Before leaving, Wei Xun looked back once more at this “above-ground burial chamber” used for vigils. Among the dozens or hundreds of flying apsaras on the dome, he suddenly noticed a six-armed celestial demoness figure.

She had two extra pairs of full arms growing from her ribs, her posture particularly graceful and alluring. Her upper body was bare, lower body clothed in a light flowing skirt, surrounded by flowing silk scarves, wearing a lotus crown, with full crimson lips. Her makeup and dress were no different from other flying apsaras, but her face closely resembled Bao Zhu.

Due to this striking resemblance, Wei Xun couldn’t help but look longer. In the flickering candlelight, the celestial demoness’s tender, loving eyes suddenly winked at him.

Wei Xun’s heart jolted. He raised the candle higher to look again, but the figure in the mural seemed ambiguous now, not so similar anymore.

“What are you looking at?” Bao Zhu suddenly appeared before him, asking expressionlessly.

Wei Xun immediately averted his gaze from those bare-chested, barefoot, lightly clad beautiful flying apsaras, steadied himself, and lied casually: “Nothing, just checking the moon’s position.”

Could Wu Guancheng have used the painting sage’s eye-dotting technique to paint eyes on that six-armed celestial demoness? But how could he have mistaken the figure in the mural for Bao Zhu’s appearance?

The two left the northwestern pagoda, walked through a long corridor, and headed northeast. The corridor walls were covered with murals, including “Hell Transformation” depicting the chaos and stampding that occurred when floating corpses surfaced during the Ullambana Festival. This piece was by a painter from the previous dynasty, with rather pale colors and much detail worn away – not from Wu Guancheng’s hand.

Bao Zhu pointed at the mural and said: “Whether in Chang’an or Luoyang, the central area of ‘Hell Transformation’ always features Ksitigarbha Bodhisattva. Though the subject matter is grim, with a bodhisattva presiding, there’s hope. But the central figure in that underwater painting was a floating corpse. If Wu Guancheng was murdered, the killer’s intentions were extremely malicious – wanting him trapped in hell, never to achieve salvation.”

After speaking, she sighed deeply, as if still shaken.

Wei Xun knew she was thinking of the prayer flags pressed on her coffin when she was buried alive, and the demon mask placed on her face. Before he could think of appropriate words of comfort, she had already moved closer.

“Hey, I just opened a coffin…”

Bao Zhu didn’t touch his dirty hands but directly embraced his elbow, pressing half her body against him.

The soft warmth penetrated through clothing. Wei Xun’s entire body stiffened. They walked together for a while, his mind feeling empty and blank. After thinking it over, he still pulled away: “This won’t work. If we suddenly encounter enemy attack and I spring into combat, I’d drag you down and pull you along.”

Bao Zhu glared at him with great displeasure, moving just slightly farther away but still grasping his wrist.

“Did the woman lying in the coffin earlier have any jewelry on?” she suddenly asked.

Wei Xun recalled for a moment and said: “Quite a few hair ornaments and bracelets. Since she could afford an ebony coffin, she certainly wouldn’t lack jewelry.”

Bao Zhu muttered gloomily: “My coffin was made of imperial nanmu wood with golden threads, but now I have nothing on my head.”

Wei Xun felt somewhat puzzled, feeling like they’d discussed this topic before, but couldn’t remember when or how it ended.

Walking all the way to the meditation hall due north, they saw another coffin and beside it Wu Guancheng’s abrupt Nine Aspects mural, depicting the fifth aspect of putrefaction – the corpse’s belly burst with intestines spilling out, pus and blood flowing everywhere, simply too horrible to look at. Because the brushwork was extremely realistic, at first glance in the dim light, it seemed like there really was such a corpse collapsed at the wall’s base.

Bao Zhu still waited behind a pillar in the outer corridor while Wei Xun opened the coffin lid. Inside was a tall, burly male corpse dressed as a military officer, nearly completely skeletal. According to the Nine Aspects description, this should be the eighth aspect of bone exposure or ninth aspect of dry bones, which didn’t match the putrefaction depicted on the wall.

Wei Xun heard Bao Zhu yawning in the distance and called out a suggestion: “Why don’t you just go back to sleep? There won’t be many coffins for vigil in one temple. I’ll finish opening them all tonight and tell you the results tomorrow.”

There was no echo from the outer corridor. After a long while, Bao Zhu emerged from behind the pillar rubbing her face, saying stubbornly: “No, we should solve the case as soon as possible. Wu Guancheng was clearly not mentally stable before his death. I’m now worried about Wu Gui’er’s safety.”

She paused, then mused aloud: “Since the mural on the wall doesn’t match the decomposition state of the corpse in the coffin, why did he insist on painting next to coffins of people holding vigil at Chanchan Temple? As you said, since holding vigil requires paying the temple a large sum in merit money, these families are wealthy and noble, and should have no connection to the orphan-born Wu Guancheng.”

Wei Xun finished examining the corpse’s condition and re-covered the disturbed clothing and cap for the deceased.

Bao Zhu asked: “Since you don’t believe in ghosts and spirits, why be so courteous to corpses? Though today is Ullambana night, they wouldn’t dare trouble you while alive, and presumably lack the courage after death too.”

Wei Xun laughed: “Dead corpses have no knowledge or feeling – what’s there to be courteous about? I’m worried about family members coming to retrieve them and opening the coffin to examine the remains, seeing their relatives in complete disarray would be psychologically unbearable.”

Bao Zhu said quietly: “Truly good bamboo produces good shoots – how could a villain like Chen Shigu teach a disciple like you?”

After closing the coffin lid, Wei Xun grabbed some frankincense leaves from the offerings beside the coffin, rubbed them on his hands, and walked to the outer corridor to clear the foul air from his chest. Without using breath-holding techniques, the corpse stench inside coffins was quite nauseating.

After a moment, he said: “That wasn’t taught by old Chen either. I’ve been doing this dirty work with him since childhood, never thought it was anything special, damaging countless corpses. Then one day, passing by a mass grave, I saw a woman burying her deceased infant. She was very poor, couldn’t afford a coffin or hire someone to dig a deep grave, just wrapped the body in torn matting and buried it shallowly.

I thought then that such burial wouldn’t work. Seven or eight days later, passing by again, I found I was right – wild dogs had dug up the child’s remains and eaten most of it, leaving the entire burial ground in chaos. That mother brought a few offerings to visit her child, discovered it had been desecrated, and could only gather the remaining bones, holding them and weeping.

I stood watching and realized I was that corpse-digging wild dog. From that moment, I vaguely understood that tomb robbing wasn’t right and began thinking of stopping. If not for needing to find medicinal pills for treatment, I would have washed my hands of it long ago.”

Having said this, Wei Xun noticed the topic was rather melancholy and didn’t want Bao Zhu to feel sad along with him. He smiled and said: “Fortunately I didn’t quit so early, or I would have let you down.”

More than ten years of forced dealings with tomb earth and corpses – perhaps it was all destined just so he could rescue her from that underground palace. If so, it was worth it.

Thinking this way, Wei Xun saw Bao Zhu standing silently in the corridor shadows, her beautiful face with eyes glimmering – seemingly with tears, yet seemingly something else.

The hour of zi had arrived. All was quiet, and pale, ethereal night mist silently descended on the ancient temple courtyard, making the bright, clear moonlight dim and unclear.

Vaguely, like that graceful, alluring six-armed flying apsara in the mural, she blinked once.