Chapter Twenty-Three: Forcibly Entering the Dream

The village chief shook his head and said, “There hasn’t been one for a long time. The last time a Taoist climbed the mountain to subdue demons was before the founding of the country. Who could possibly still have such a map?”

I couldn’t help but frown. If I calculated the timeline, the time when Qiushuang was reincarnated roughly coincided with when Qingfeng and his gang took away the treasured casket from the ancestral hall.

Back then, the ones who released Qiushuang and then gravely wounded her were most likely Xu Zhenshan and his Qingfeng gang.

Before I could say anything, someone asked, “Uncle, if you don’t even have a map, can you still find the place?”

“I can!” the village chief replied. “There’s no map, but my father and grandfather both took me up the mountain to recognize the path. I can still find the Sealed Stele Cliff.”

I tentatively asked, “Uncle, is the Sealed Stele Cliff far from here?”

“It’s quite far!” the chief said. “The Sealed Stele Cliff isn’t on high ground, it’s in the lowlands. No matter what, we’ll have to walk until dusk before we reach the cliff’s pass. Let’s get moving!”

At these words, the expressions of the others soured.

The elders used to say: when walking in the mountains, always go high, never low; travel by day, never by night.

The meaning is clear: when ascending the mountain, always head upward, never down into valleys or forks. In the northeast, mountains are many and rolling. The valleys between two peaks are called mountain gullies. If these gullies crisscross like branching roads, they become mountain forks.

From afar, those gullies may look level with the mountain roots. In reality, most gullies have been eroded by rainwater from the mountain, making them lower than the surrounding ground. Some are so deep that even wild animals can’t climb out once they fall in; with abundant moisture, the wild grass there can grow taller than a man, and once covered by the grass, you can’t see how deep the gully is from above.

Moreover, these places rarely see sunlight year-round. Even in June or July, you might find pockets of unmelted ice. The yin energy is heavy indeed. On top of that, people who die in the mountains might get washed into the gullies by rainwater or dragged in by wild beasts to be eaten. With the accumulation of yin and resentful energy, you might see things you’d rather not, even in broad daylight.

So, when the villagers heard they were headed down into a mountain gully, how could their faces not darken?

The village chief paid them no mind, urging everyone to hurry. We trekked through the mountains for half a day, and as dusk fell, he pointed at a distant tree and said, “That’s the pass.”

When I looked up, I saw that beneath the tree stood a small shrine, taller than a man.

The village chief led us to the front of the shrine, stooped, and entered through its door. “From here, we head down to the Sealed Stele Cliff. Let’s go!”

I peeked inside. The shrine was open through both ends, with no altar, just two doors facing each other. If you stood at the front entrance and looked through, unless you lowered your head, all you’d see was a stretch of grey sky.

I quickly asked, “Uncle, are you sure? Is this really the way down the mountain? Who built this shrine?”

He replied, “What’s wrong? I’m not mistaken. There’s something wrong with this shrine!”

I hurriedly said, “An open passage like this isn’t a shrine at all—it’s a gate! Look, there’s ground on this side, but past it is empty land. Going through this gate is like stepping into thin air, as if crossing into the underworld. A living person’s yang energy would drop by half. If you go down at night, you’ll surely see... see something you don’t want to see.”

My words sent a chill down everyone’s spine. The village chief’s face hardened. “If we don’t go down now, when will we?”

I said, “Wait until noon tomorrow, when the sun is at its peak. Before heading down, we should dismantle the shrine’s roof, let the sunlight shine inside for half an hour to disperse the yin energy.”

He looked first at the open doors, then at me, and finally gritted his teeth. “Then we’ll wait until tomorrow. Let’s find a sheltered spot to rest for now.”

In the past, mountain folk had few opportunities to work in town. During the slack farming season, they could only climb the mountains to gather herbs or dig for medicinal roots to earn some money. Among those who lived near the mountains, eight out of ten had trekked the hills. Though they weren’t as skilled as professional mountain men, they could manage a few days in the lower ranges without issue.

The group quickly set up makeshift tents and kindled a fire on the slope.

I pretended to help prepare dinner, deliberately keeping my distance from the chief. Someone helping me with the meal whispered, “Xiao Xie, is that shrine really as sinister as you say?”

“It might be even worse!” In truth, I’d been talking nonsense earlier.

There was indeed something odd about the shrine, but I couldn’t pinpoint exactly what was wrong. My instinct just told me not to pass through it yet.

Hu Sanqi once told me that human intuition is often more accurate than you’d expect; most people just can’t grasp that fleeting feeling. You were born different from others, so your intuition is several times sharper. If you suddenly have a bad premonition, it’s better to abandon what you’re doing immediately rather than press on. Sometimes, intuition can save your life.

The man whispered, “So what’s with that shrine? Tell me more.”

I quickly waved my hand. “Now’s not the time. Who’d dare talk about that on the mountain at night? If we must, wait until daylight.”

After glancing around, I lowered my voice. “When you sleep tonight, stay close to the fire. It’ll do you good.”

He understood and nodded, slipping me a few extra pieces of meat when serving the food. After eating, I crawled into my tent, pretending to sleep, but kept my hand on my bayonet, listening intently for any sound outside.

I’d intended to keep watch on the shrine throughout the night, but unexpectedly, my eyelids grew heavier and heavier. Even after pinching my thigh several times, I couldn’t fight off the drowsiness.

This was bad.

A ghost was about to invade my dream.

There’s a folk belief that ghosts can forcibly send dreams to people.

Normally, people can’t see ghosts. Even if they do, their first reaction is to run, never to listen to what the ghost might say. If a ghost wants to convey something to the living, it’s best not to appear directly. Sometimes they exhaust themselves just to appear, only for the person to be so terrified they lose their wits, missing the message entirely.

So, if there’s no medium, the best way for a ghost to communicate is through dreams. If the person won’t sleep, the ghost will force them to doze off, even if just for a few minutes, just enough to deliver its message.

If you want to avoid being pulled into a dream by a ghost, the best way is to locate where the ghost is before you fall asleep, and throw something in that direction to scare it off. Otherwise, even if you stab yourself, you’ll still end up falling asleep.

I looked around inside the tent, and at last, I saw a round bulge on the tent’s roof.

The ghost was sitting on top of my tent.

If someone were standing outside just then, they might see a figure sitting cross-legged on the tent, staring down with a cold, mournful smile.