Chapter 2

The next day, the daylight bolstered Cheng Haidong’s courage. He began to recount a very embellished version of his tale, lamenting that he had no idea what might have happened if Lan He, who was both brave and kind, hadn’t woken him up.

When everyone learned that he’d experienced sleep paralysis in the former home of the old man who died, they shuddered. Soon, word that a cameraman had encountered a ghost last night spread amongst the cast and crew like wildfire.

The director’s decision to cancel filming had been met with little reaction last night, but today, it seemed to mean the director had long suspected something was amiss. The quaint, historic quality of Yantang Village had also taken an eerie turn overnight.

The director was very upset. He felt that the village hadn’t been very forthright and was appalled that they had rented that house to them when all this time, he’d been trying to respect the departed. But they were only staying a few more days, he thought, and went to console Cheng Haidong and arrange for them to move in the rooms next to his own.

The production team had hired some villagers to provide their meals and even to work as extras, so news quickly spread from the cast and crew to the entire village. Inevitably, the villagers began to talk amongst each other.

Cheng Haidong looked ashen after encountering that ghost, but he still insisted on gossiping. “The villagers were saying that apparently the expensive gold and silver banner you mentioned was actually poorly made. That’s why it won’t stand upright. It’s also why the old man hasn’t passed on yet. I say, if he wants to take it up with his descendants, he should go after the right people. Why go after me? Does he think I’m his grandson?”

Lan He wasn’t surprised by this; rather, now it all made sense. When he’d offered the old man incense yesterday, he had noticed that the incense smelled of mold.

What’s more, they had used yellow memorial paper as ritual paper money. Nowadays, it was common to see reprinted recycled paper as paper money, but it was also common to see old-fashioned paper money, so that part wasn’t strange. He had noticed, however, that the print on the paper money was blurry and it looked crudely made.

What was wrong with the print? Well, with this kind of traditional paper money, you needed to take a special seal and hammer it onto the yellow paper in order to mark it as money.

In the olden days, you would hire an artisan to come to your home and do it, and money-stamping had been an entire profession of its own. Nowadays, you could just buy it pre-stamped or do it yourself at home. Only paper stamped with the seal counted as “money.” Otherwise, it was just like any official document that lacked an official seal—a waste of paper.

Thus, a considerable portion of the burned paper money was simply ordinary yellow paper that couldn’t be circulated in the netherworld.

Lan He had been curious as to why they were willing to pay for a gold and silver banner but cut corners when it came to incense and paper money. Now that he knew the banner was also poorly crafted, everything made so much more sense.

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Because of the incident with Cheng Haidong, the cast and crew chattered nonstop. Even as they wrapped up at eight that night, many of them were still discussing ways to ward off evil spirits, such as keeping money or a knife under one’s pillow.

Though they had wrapped up, it wasn’t quite time to rest yet. Everyone still needed to discuss and prepare for the next day. Cheng Haidong had ventured off to their friend’s room, and Lan He was left on his own to practice his lines in the house.

Around midnight, Lan He heard Cheng Haidong returning to the courtyard and murmuring to someone.

The walls were very thin in this house. Lan He listened as the conversation trickled to a stop, yet the ensuing sound of a door creaking opening never came. At first he thought Cheng Haidong had gone to use the bathroom, but that didn’t seem right, so he stepped outside to check.

He was met with the sight of Cheng Haidong sitting on a step with his back to the door and his head down. Lan He couldn’t tell what he was doing.

“Dongzi¹?” Lan He called, stepping forward. Cheng Haidong didn’t respond. As he inched closer, he picked up the familiar smell of ash from burnt paper. He promptly turned Cheng Haidong around and saw that his eyes were blank, and he was as unresponsive as a block of wood.

Lan He cursed under his breath. He looked around and couldn’t see anyone, so he helped Cheng Haidong back to his own room. Cheng Haidong could walk just fine, he just wasn’t mentally present—essentially, his soul was missing. 

Lan He smelled a hint of shoddy, moldy incense lacing the scent of paper-ash, and he was hit with a feeling of deja vu. Old Man Song must have taken him away. Cheng Haidong’s huoqi was already low after last night’s sleep paralysis incident—today, his soul had straight up been snatched away.

Lan He’s grandpa was a paper craftsman, a yijiang, himself. The yi in his title was the collective term for all of the paper goods burned for the dead to use in the afterlife. These goods could be as big as gold and silver banners or paper tools or paper people, and as small as paper money. His grandfather could make them all.

You couldn’t avoid coming into contact with the supernatural in such a profession. These craftsmen were widely known to do business with the netherworld, as their livelihoods were so entrenched in it.

Lan He had grown up around such things, so he knew that if he didn’t bring Cheng Haidong back, Cheng Haidong would remain a simpleton forever.

Everyone knew that humans belonged to a different world than the supernatural and shouldn’t meddle in their affairs unless absolutely necessary, but Lan He couldn’t just let his good friend lose his soul. So he hurried back to the house to search for it.

Qingming Festival was fast approaching, so many of the villagers had prepared joss sticks, candles, ritual paper money, and other goods. Lan He dug around in a storage room until he found a stack of a hundred sheets of yellow paper, still unprinted. With nimble fingers, he folded a sheet of yellow paper several times, then pulled at its edges, turning it into a plump ingot.

Lan He had spent a lot of time with his grandpa and would often help him out at work, so he was very practiced in this craft and could fold several thousand paper ingots a day. He hadn’t made anything in quite some time, but he was still able to produce a small stack in short order.

After folding the paper ingots, he procured some white paper and folded it into paper clothing. He’d found colorful paper as well, but the clothes of the newly deceased must be cut from white paper, as new ghosts were afraid of wearing color. Seeing as Lan He was folding clothing for the freshly deceased Old Man Song, he naturally used white paper.

He then folded a small paper man and wrote Cheng Haidong’s name and birthdate on it, which he had gotten from his ID card.

On an envelope, he wrote the old man’s full name, birthdate, and date of his death—these he had seen written on paper on his coffin. The full name was necessary for ensuring the deceased received it.

Lan He carried everything outside. He stacked the ingots up and put the paper clothing and paper man on top. He held Cheng Haidong’s lighter in his hand.

The paper man was to be burned to serve as a temporary body for Cheng Haidong and to encourage his soul to return. The ingots and clothes, on the other hand, were to be burned because Lan He recalled that the old man’s children and grandchildren hadn’t really burned anything for him.

With these items, the old man would have an easier time of it.

Lan He flicked the lighter on, and a tiny flame swayed into existence, its reflection dancing in his eyes.

Hundreds of mountains of folded gold and silver transform into thousands of ghostly silks for dead men’s passage into the Nine Springs of the Underworld—

Lan He suddenly felt an ache in his arm, and his hand stretched forward as if it had a mind of its own. The flame of the lighter brushed against an ingot, and in an instant, a blazing fire engulfed the entire tower of gold!

The ingots burned quickly. A mysterious wind swept up the ashes, and they waltzed skyward like butterflies. They danced higher and higher, rising even above the roof.

Lan He’s pupils shrank. The ingots had burned much too quickly, set alight in only an instant. He hadn’t had time to place the envelope on top, which meant he was unable to ensure that the gold would be received by the deceased. 

What’s more, if ashes fly horizontally, it’s a sign that the deceased has received the offerings. But it’s said that if the wind blows upward…

Woosh—

He seemed to feel a chilly breeze at his neck.

His bones ached and groaned, as if the cold wind were blowing right into the crevices of his joints.

In the dead of night, only the cold light of the moon spilled into the old, Qing-era courtyard. There was hardly a sound or a patch of color in sight. Besides the fluttering butterflies of the paper-ash, there was only that quiet breathing, which sounded so close he might have felt it. As if it were right…right…

Lan He slowly released a breath and braced himself. He turned, coming face-to-face with pale, bloodless features, pitch-black eyes that seemed to swallow all light, and icy breath exhaled right into Lan He’s face.

Lan He’s heart stuttered. Only by digging his fingernails into his palms did he manage to keep his cool!

They couldn’t be more than a meter apart from each other. Lan He met his eyes and was consumed by the sensation of that eerie breath enveloping him from head to toe.

As they continued holding each other’s gaze, the pale figure stuck his face even closer, scrutinizing a seemingly impassive Lan He.

“…Mn.” Lan He slowly held the envelope up and fanned it, staring resolutely forward. 

“I’m so hungry.”

The figure watched Lan He suspiciously. He stayed close, eyes glued to his face.

Under such scrutiny, the average person would certainly have caved already.

Lan He could see him more clearly now. He was dressed in all white and wore a tall hat, on which the words “Harbinger of Materials” were written. He carried a red lantern that read “Mount Tai Hell.”

Was this…the White Wuchang²?

Some of the more infamous employees of the netherworld were wuchang ghosts, the grim reapers of legend. Every person in China knew what they looked like.

Everyone knew that evil spirits were the scariest, but the ghostly reapers in charge of capturing those evil spirits were not to be underestimated. Wuchang ghosts were ghosts too, and though they were benevolent by nature, they were bound to possess a ferocity after so much time on the job.

Even evil spirits quailed at the sight of them, to say nothing of living humans. Legend had it that if you were ever unlucky enough to encounter one, you were bound to fall gravely ill.

Lan He more or less understood that, in theory, paper-ash flying upwards was a sign that the offerings had indeed been stolen by a ghost of the underworld. Only, he found the situation a little odd—according to legend, the White Wuchang was one of the netherworld’s big guns, the one in charge of all the ghostly reapers, so it was actually rather unlikely for the average person to run into him.

Was he “lucky” enough that the White Wuchang had stolen his paper ingots? And wait, the Black Wuchang’s hat was supposed to say “Peace Unto Earth,” while the White Wuchang’s hat said “Harbinger of Fortune.” So why did this wuchang’s hat say “materials” instead of “fortune”?

Lan He began to grow suspicious, but he kept his gaze forward and face placid.

This was the product of an actor’s training: even face-to-face with the White Wuchang, he could pretend as if he didn’t see a thing. 

He only wanted to save Cheng Haidong. He didn’t want anything to do with this other world.

The White Wuchang stared at Lan He for some time, unwavering, before finally edging away. He picked up an ingot and examined it. In a voice that was so cold that ice water could have been wrung from it, yet at the same time sounded undeniably gleeful, he proclaimed, “This is good quality gold!”

The longer he studied the gold, the more he was charmed by it. He suddenly asked Lan He, “Where did you buy this?”

Lan He acted as if he hadn’t heard a thing. The mountain of ingots was now nothing but ash. He picked up a broom and began to sweep the ashes.

Having failed to draw a response out of Lan He, the wuchang harrumphed. But his suspicion began to dissipate, and he crammed the mountain of gold into his robes, which was like a bottomless cavern. He even picked his nose.

Lan He: “…”

As if nothing had happened, he began retreating to his room. But just then, he heard the wuchang’s icy, eerie voice suddenly call out from behind him:

“I summon Lan He’s spirit to serve as a civil servant under Mount Tai Hell, division seventy-two!”

Crap, how does he know my name? Lan He’s body felt weightless. His eyes slid shut of their own accord.

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When he opened his eyes next, his feet were already hovering slightly above the ground. When he looked down, he saw his own body lying prone on the floor. Unlike Cheng Haidong, who had lost only his hun soul, Lan He had lost both his hun soul and po soul³—he was as good as dead. 

The White Wuchang stared at him, shocked. He was holding some documents in his hand. “You’re Lan He? Then you must have been able to see me just a second ago!”

Lan He: “…”

The White Wuchang: “…”

Lan He: “……”

Well, this was kind of awkward.

The White Wuchang barked an angry laugh. “I see that you lie even to ghosts! Bravo, bravo, my friend. You have potential. I’m telling you, from now on, you’re one of Mount Tai Hell’s bravest generals.”

“You mean I’m a temp worker,” Lan He corrected woodenly.

He’d figured out what was going on. The netherworld was very busy, and when wuchang ghosts had more work than they could handle, they would conscript humans from the world of the living into their ranks to help them capture souls. When the work was done, they would let the humans return to the living world.  

To do such work was to “become a wuchang” or to “walk the yin path.” These people were known as “living wuchangs” because they were the human counterparts to wuchang ghosts.

Of course, in modern vernacular, they might be called the netherworld’s part-timers.

But Lan He didn’t know how his name had made the list, or why he’d been drafted.

“Call it whatever you want,” the White Wuchang said, smiling. “Recently we’ve been short-staffed down below. If you do as I say, you’ll be treated well.”

Lan He said experimentally, “White Wuchang sir, I have other aspirations in life…”

Maybe those witches and shamans might covet the chance to build a relationship with the netherworld, but Lan He already had a job and wasn’t really looking for a second one. Besides, the netherworld’s metaphorical pomegranate seeds were not very tasty.

The White Wuchang touched his own face, looking oddly pleased. The expression looked rather strange on his deathly gray face. “Oh, no, I’m not Lord Xie. But we admire Lord Xie greatly, of course…You can just call me Lao Bai.”

The White Wuchang’s name was Xie Bi’an, as legend had it. Lan He understood now—so this was just a regular netherworld worker, not the White Wuchang himself. He was just dressed this way because he admired the White Wuchang. “Oh, no wonder. Then you miswrote ‘fortune’ in ‘Harbinger of Fortune.’”

“It’s a phonetic loan word⁴.”

Lan He: “…”

You…Lan He held his tongue and said instead, “I’ll write and burn a resignation letter, if Mister Bai could please be accommodating.”

He really couldn’t figure out why he’d been selected. But the netherworld never took humans’ wishes into consideration when pressing them into service, so there was no use arguing about it—all he could do was dance around it.

Sure enough, Lao Bai shouted, “Ridiculous! Who haggles with ghosts and gods?! Every human who’s conscripted must serve at least twelve years before they can leave.”

“All the ingots and paper clothes from earlier? I folded those myself.”

A considering look crossed Lao Bai’s sallow face. Was that so… 

Who in the land of the living could tell real and fake ritual paper money apart? It wasn’t like they could ask at the bank. As a result, not all the paper money that got burned was up to par.

In the netherworld, there was so much low-quality paper money that couldn’t be used as proper currency that they formed mountains of scrap paper.

But the ingots Lan He had folded were different. Lao Bai hadn’t come across such fine gold in a long time. Not everyone was capable of such craftsmanship, even with the same materials at their disposal. 

Lao Bai promptly began to sing a different tune. He said dispassionately, “Well, alright, since I can tell you’re very sincere…But you’ll have to serve at least twelve months.”

Ghosts and gods were not above bribery. With Lao Bai’s generous discount, twelve years was reduced to one year.

One year was still a long time though. Grudgingly, Lan He asked, “Then can you just assign me desk work?”

Capturing souls wasn’t a wuchang’s only job; it was just the most common one. There were still other tasks to be done. 

“I’ll do my best,” Lao Bai replied, equally begrudging. 

“Thank you,” Lan He said, dispirited, having finished haggling.

What an unexpected disaster. Not only did he now have to work for the netherworld for a year, he also wasn’t going to be paid—rather, he was the one doing the paying. 

Lao Bai pulled out a uniform from his robe, as well as a tall hat just like his, a chain, and a fan. “Here, these are yours. They’re exact replicas of the Black and White Wuchangs’, except you have to write the words on your hat yourself.”

…The netherworld staff appeared to really admire their leaders. Lan He took the hat and pondered for a while.

Lao Bai rummaged for a brush and handed it to him. “Do you want to write ‘Harbinger of Fortune’ or ‘Peace Unto Earth’?”

“Am I only allowed to pick between the two?”

Lao Bai gave him an odd look. “No…but most people do pick one of the two. The Black and White Wuchangs are renowned throughout the netherworld and on earth. If we dress like the two Lords, we can get a taste of their glory. Also, it scares the ghosts that see us.”

Lan He understood what he meant now. “I can do desk work, can’t I? I don’t need to worry about that.”

Then, without giving Lao Bai a chance to stop him, he wrote on the hat: “I’m Already Here.”

Lao Bai was stupefied.

“Oh, right. My friend lost his soul. I can use this to find him, right?” Lan He asked, gripping the fan. The two possessions of a wuchang were the Soul-Snatching Chain, which could capture souls, and the Soul-Restoring Fan, which could return a soul back to a body.

“Of course you can. It’ll be a piece of cake.” Lao Bai glanced at Cheng Haidong. “But tonight you need to help me catch a spirit named Song Qinmin. The local guardian deity reported that he’s been lingering in the human world and refuses to leave. The guardian deity would like you to help.”

Wasn’t Song Qinmin the name of the newly departed Old Man Song?

“Then I think I know where he is,” said Lan He.

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Lan He floated ahead, leading Lao Bai to Old Man Song’s house. He could see from here that Old Man Song and Cheng Haidong were at the door. Old Man Song was trying to drag Cheng Haidong inside, but Cheng Haidong was stubbornly hanging onto the doorframe. 

Sure enough, he had been taken away by the old man…

Lan He thought for a moment, then hid his face with the fan. 

“What are you doing?” Lao Bai asked.

“Hiding my identity.” Lan He’s voice was muffled.

He was being forced to work part-time, but he didn’t intend on letting word spread. He didn’t want to continue running into trouble after serving his one year.

Besides, even if Old Man Song hadn’t seen him on TV before, he might have seen him around the village. Cheng Haidong would also recognize him, and upon seeing him dressed in such a way, he would probably be so frightened his soul would dissipate. It was best if Lan He hid his face.

Lao Bai snorted. How unusual, he thought. Humans that made a living off of netherworldly affairs usually foamed at the mouth to tell everyone about it so they could make more money in the mortal realm. But Lan He was the opposite.

He looked back at Song Qinmin, who had spotted their red lanterns and ducked behind the door.

Cheng Haidong sighed in relief and sat down. Then he caught sight of the two ghosts floating towards him, wearing tall hats that read “Harbinger of Materials” and “I’m Already Here.” They were holding chains, and one was even covering his face.

Cheng Haidong was dumbstruck. Not only had he encountered a ghost today, he’d also encountered grim reapers!

Only, the words on their hats were pretty weird…

Cheng Haidong had followed the old man here in a daze. The old man had said he wanted to invite him for tea, so Cheng Haidong had gone with him without the slightest idea as to where they were going until they arrived at this door. 

Wuchang ghosts were eerie. The average human grew ill if they ran into one, while ghosts trembled with fear. Though Cheng Haidong didn’t recognize them as wuchang ghosts right away, he knew he was afraid from the depths of his soul. He pressed himself to the wall and slid to the ground, teary-eyed. “I don’t want to die…”

Seeing the words “I’m Already Here” scrawled across that hat threw him into a panic. He was terrified that they would tell him, “We’re already here, and ghosts don’t leave empty-handed, so we’ll take you with us.”

Fortunately, the ghostly reaper only intoned, “Young one, it’s not the time for your mortal life to end. Lord Bai will escort you back.”

Cheng Haidong was overjoyed. “Th-thank you, brother…Lord Bai.”

The “I’m Already Here” wuchang remained quiet. Cheng Haidong couldn’t see his face, but he was terrified. “I-I’d like to thank you as well…”

“Lord Lan!” Lao Bai supplied.

Lan He wasn’t able to stop him in time. Behind the fan, he shook his head at Lao Bai. He didn’t want to reveal his real name—what a half-hearted attempt at hiding his identity.

Fortunately, Cheng Haidong never made the association between Lord Lan and his own good friend. He just looked confused, and wondered aloud, “Bai…Lan…the Blue and White Wuchangs?⁵ I’ve only heard of the Black and White Wuchangs. Does the netherworld have a navy too?”

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Footnotes:

1. A diminutive for Cheng Haidong’s name. (Back)
2. The White Wuchang is a well-known figure in Chinese folklore. He and the Black Wuchang are the twin guards of the underworld, and they’re in charge of guiding souls to the afterlife and maintaining order among the denizens of the underworld. (Back)
3. The po soul is the animal or corporeal soul, which every person has since birth. The ethereal hun soul is developed throughout life. Together, the hun and po form the human consciousness, and it’s thought that a person dies when both leave the body. (Back)
4. Lao Bai wrote ‘cai’ meaning materials instead of ‘cai’ meaning fortune, but it’s pronounced the same way! (Back)
5. Here, ‘bai’ means white and ‘lan’ means blue. The ‘lan’ in Lord Lan/Lan He is a different character than the ‘lan’ in blue, but they sound the same, so Cheng Haidong thinks he heard ‘Lord Blue.’ (Back)

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Translated by beansprout. Edited by opal.

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just a reminder, this is my side project so will prob have slower updates until tiandi is finished! but happy news, we’re almost at the last volume of tiandi woohooo

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