Chapter Fifty-Two: Calamities Multiply

Looking at the scene before him, Feng Yuan could hardly believe his eyes. It had all come so suddenly, as if he were dreaming.

He quickly turned to the sons and daughters of Feng Changshun, who stood beside him dressed in mourning garb. “My deepest condolences to you all. When did Master pass away?”

“The night before last—he died in the Sage’s Temple on the hill behind the village,” Feng Changshun’s family replied.

“What? He died in the Sage’s Temple the night before last? That’s impossible! Just last night, I went with Master to the Sage’s Temple to attend a lecture. How could he have died the day before yesterday?” Feng Yuan exclaimed in shock.

At once, many of those present turned to stare at Feng Yuan, their expressions filled with bewilderment.

Feng Changshun’s son glared at Feng Yuan, his voice tense with anger. “Feng Yuan, don’t speak nonsense. My father has been dead for two days. How could he have gone with you to the temple for a lecture last night? Stop stirring up trouble here!”

“Please, don’t misunderstand me,” Feng Yuan hastened to explain. “I’m telling the truth. If you don’t believe me, look at this—Master’s waist token. He dropped it last night, and I picked it up. I came here today to return it to him. I never expected to find things like this!”

With that, Feng Yuan quickly produced the waist token from his bosom and handed it over to Feng Changshun’s son.

His son stared at it in disbelief, taking it in hand. “This… this is my father’s token. But when we laid him to rest, I placed it in the coffin with him. How could it be in your hands?”

The others stared at Feng Yuan, equally astonished.

“I already explained—Master invited me to the temple for a lecture yesterday. On the way back, he dropped this, and I picked it up,” Feng Yuan said. But even as he spoke, an ominous feeling crept over him. Just yesterday, Feng Dazhu had died in the Sage’s Temple; then, that night, he’d gone with Master to the temple, only to learn now that Master had died two days ago, and also in the Sage’s Temple. There was something deeply uncanny about that place.

The Feng family sensed something was amiss as well. Feng Yuan didn’t seem to be lying, and they themselves had placed the waist token in the coffin. Now it had been returned by Feng Yuan, who could have no reason to steal it—especially a wooden token, worthless to anyone. All evidence pointed to Feng Yuan’s story being true. And if that were so, there was only one explanation left: there was something supernatural at work. Otherwise, how could such things be possible?

“This matter is not simple,” Feng Yuan advised the family. “I suggest we open the coffin and see for ourselves. Otherwise, if something ominous happens, it will be too late for regret.”

Feng Changshun’s son considered his words, then turned to look at the coffin behind them. Suddenly, he cried out, “Why isn’t the lid secured? Where are the nails? Who has tampered with it?”

At his shout, everyone turned to look. Sure enough, the coffin lid was askew and not sealed tight, and the nails were missing. A chill of fear swept through the assembled crowd.

They all remembered how the coffin had been firmly sealed during the interment, with large iron nails hammered in to prevent grieving family from accidentally pushing the lid open while mourning. Now, the nails were missing and the lid was ajar—what on earth had happened? Was this truly the work of a ghost?

Fear gripped everyone, and they stepped back in alarm—even Feng Changshun’s own family, though it was their kin who had died. Who wouldn’t fear the supernatural?

Seeing this, Feng Yuan realized things were not right. Clearly, something paranormal was afoot. Still, he wasn’t afraid; he’d encountered ghosts before, and was even a cultivator himself. Besides, it was broad daylight—there was nothing to be afraid of.

He turned to the Feng family. “If you don’t mind, allow me to open the coffin and inspect it.”

“Please, go ahead,” Feng Changshun’s son replied at once.

Feng Yuan stepped forward, gripped the lid, and lifted it off. At once, a foul stench of decay wafted out— the reek of a rotting corpse. It was midsummer, and a body would spoil after a single night, let alone two or three days.

Feng Yuan peered into the coffin. The body of Feng Changshun had already collapsed into a ghastly, unrecognizable state, nothing like the man he’d seen the previous night. The clothing, however, was exactly what he’d seen him wear. At the waist, the token was gone—Feng Yuan had indeed picked it up.

Feng Changshun’s son came forward as well, glancing from the corpse’s waist to the token in his hand. Suddenly, he let out a terrified scream, dropped the token, and staggered back, his face ashen.

The truth could no longer be denied. It was truly a haunting—how could they not be afraid? The others fled in terror as well.

Staring at Feng Changshun’s corpse, Feng Yuan was suddenly struck by a thought. In the next instant, he turned and dashed out, the others following in panic, thinking the ghost was after them.

But in fact, Feng Yuan was running toward Feng Hanyun’s house in the village. The previous night, Feng Hanyun had also gone with him to the Sage’s Temple. He needed to see whether anything had happened to Feng Hanyun; if not, he would have to protect him, for it seemed some evil spirit was at work. He could not let it claim another victim.

Feng Yuan ran swiftly and soon reached Feng Hanyun’s house, only to find it, too, draped in white mourning banners, a spirit hall erected inside. Entering, he saw that the deceased was Feng Hanyun.

Upon inquiry, he learned from the family that Feng Hanyun had also died the night before last, together with Feng Changshun, both found dead in the Sage’s Temple.

Looking at Feng Hanyun’s coffin, he saw the same thing: the lid was loose, and the nails were gone.

Three people from the village had died together in the Sage’s Temple. There was something deeply wrong with that place. It seemed the evil spirit was hiding in the temple, stirring up trouble. The “expert” who had given the lecture last night was surely that spirit in disguise, using sorcery to bewitch the listeners—otherwise, how could the lecture have been so poor, yet the audience so entranced?

Yet, when Feng Yuan had gone with Feng Changshun and Feng Hanyun to the temple, he hadn’t realized they were dead; they’d seemed alive in every way. In the temple, he’d noticed nothing amiss. This suggested the evil spirit was extremely powerful.

Of course, it might also be that Feng Yuan’s own cultivation was too shallow to notice—an entirely possible explanation.

One way or another, the evil spirit haunting the Sage’s Temple had to be eliminated. It had already killed people, and now it was making the dead lead the living to listen to lectures—clearly intending to claim more victims. If it wasn’t destroyed, no one knew how many more would die.

There had been more than twenty people listening to the lecture the night before. Feng Yuan feared that, himself aside, the rest were all dead, and that tonight there would be more casualties.

With these thoughts, Feng Yuan hurried back toward his own home…