Chapter Six: The Spirits of Our Ancestors

Immediately, he recalled the words she had spoken earlier on the wooden bridge in the village. The fish is about to appear.

In light of the present circumstances, her words back then were clearly not groundless; she had truly seen something. Yet, it seemed to have no bearing on their current predicament. For at that moment, the ghost also appeared to notice that someone could see it, and its gaze turned directly toward Chen Yushu.

Then, it stood up, facing Chen Yushu, and mounted the coffin as if intending to step out and approach him. Its first step landed squarely on the head of one pallbearer, and its second foot pressed down upon another’s shoulder. In an instant, both men’s vitality seemed to wane; a crushing weight pressed upon them, and one nearly lost his footing and was about to fall.

Chen Yushu watched as the ghost crouched slightly, as if it intended to leap from their bodies toward him.

“Help—”

Chen Yushu staggered back, his face ashen, just about to cry for help, when he saw the ghost suddenly freeze, as if catching sight of something unspeakably terrifying. In a flash, it recoiled and flung itself back into the coffin, lying down as before.

Just then, Old Zhong at the front seemed to sense something amiss. He swiftly turned and hurried over to the two pallbearers, steadying them and asking, “Are you alright?”

“We’re fine!” one replied.

“It’s just that my legs suddenly went weak; I felt all my strength leave me,” said the other.

Old Zhong nodded, casting a glance at the coffin, then swept his willow switch across its surface. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he announced, “Alright, it’s nothing. Let’s move on.”

The mournful wails and the funeral procession resumed.

“What exactly happened just now?” Chen Yushu remained shaken long after the procession had moved on.

It had been truly terrifying. Had the ghost pounced on him, who knew what would have happened?

But why had it retreated so suddenly? It was as if it had encountered a natural enemy.

Was it fearful of Old Zhong intervening? Or… Chen Yushu’s gaze drifted toward Liu Qiao’er at the rear.

Yet at that moment, she was walking quietly with her head down, following the group without the slightest sign of anything unusual.

The others, meanwhile, seemed utterly oblivious to the apparition that had just appeared, chatting idly about their daily lives.

No matter what, Liu Qiao’er was certainly not simple. She, too, could see the ghost—she was likely the “spirit-footed one” Old Zhong had mentioned, possessing the qualifications to inherit that lineage.

Unable to quell his curiosity, Chen Yushu slowed his steps and approached her. “You saw it just now, didn’t you?”

“Huh? What?” Liu Qiao’er looked at him in confusion, her expression sincere and pure as a spring of clear water. Her honesty made it difficult for him to judge whether she had truly seen what he had.

As he hesitated, Liu Qiao’er’s mother stepped forward, pulling her aside. “Little Yushu, my Qiao’er has always had ill fortune. You’d best not get too close, or you might catch her bad luck.”

Hearing this, Chen Baihe quickly called, “Yushu, come here,” and pulled him to the front.

A kindly neighbor gave the mother and daughter a disdainful look, quietly warning Yushu not to get too close to them, lest he invite misfortune. Others nodded sagely, as if this were absolute truth.

Chen Yushu was left full of doubts, but it was not the time to ask further—the warnings, though whispered, were certainly overheard.

So the group pressed on. Before they knew it, the ancient city came into view in the distance.

Jianghuan Town.

The morning sun bathed the ancient city in gold, illuminating its towering walls and the undulating rooftops beyond. Wide, interconnected waterways stretched out, dotted with boats—some large and laden with goods, some small as bamboo rafts, gliding over the surface.

“We’ve arrived at Jianghuan Town,” someone announced, and everyone quickened their pace.

At the town gate, two government guards stood watch. Though Jianghuan was small, entry required a tax—one coin per person, with additional charges for goods. Chen Ping, the village hunter, paid fifteen coins for the whole group from Beijiao Village, three of which covered Chen Yushu and his father.

Only then were they allowed into town.

Once inside, the villagers agreed on a time to regroup for the return journey, then separated to attend to their own affairs. Chen Yushu followed his father toward the Liu family’s pharmacy.

On the way, curiosity overcame him at last. “Father,” he asked, “why does everyone in the village say Liu Qiao’er brings bad luck? Why do they avoid her family?”

“Because her family destroyed our Beijiao Village ancestral hall,” Chen Baihe replied after a moment’s hesitation, seeing no harm in telling him.

“What?” Chen Yushu was stunned. As far as he remembered, the ancestral hall was still standing—he’d passed it on their way out of the village. The building was at least a century old, with no sign of damage.

“The hall itself remains, but all the ancestral spirits inside are gone. The only ones left are those who entered in the last decade, and they can no longer protect the villagers. That’s why you were haunted by that little ghost. Without ancestral spirits in the hall, wandering ghosts dare to enter the village openly.”

As he spoke, Chen Baihe’s face darkened with resentment.

In this world, every village had its own ancestral hall, dedicated to the elders of the clan. During festivals, the villagers would burn incense and pay their respects inside—a longstanding tradition.

What’s more, in a world where ghosts truly existed, ancestors really did protect their descendants. If the ancestors’ spirits were present, they would shield the villagers from harm.

If a child fell into the water and was about to drown, a sudden force might buoy them back up. Or if a branch broke while climbing a tree, they might land softly and get up unharmed. More often than not, it was the ancestral spirits offering their protection.