Chapter 19: Jasmine: One Fish—Old Ghosts Eat the Meat, Little Ghosts Sip the Blood. What a Deal

The window stood half open, and the wind outside rolled wave after wave of flower fragrance into the room.

By the time Lu You woke it was nearly half past eleven; the bed beside him had long been empty, and all his hand found was cold.

He changed clothes and headed downstairs; the floral scent thickened as he descended—until he saw the enormous bouquet set on the First Floor table, and froze.

He Zhuchun sat beside the flowers, phone in one hand, head tilted toward Qin Shuheng, watching him copy scriptures, occasionally offering “guidance”—heckling that Qin Shuheng’s handwriting was ugly enough to offend gods and mortals alike.

Qin Shuheng, vexed to his limit, several strands of hair practically standing on end from sheer suppression, snapped, “Are you done yet? Looking for trouble, are you? Want a fight?!”

He Zhuchun curled his lip, muttering, “The dog bites Lü Dongbin—kindness repaid with spite.”

Just as Qin Shuheng looked about to erupt, He Zhuchun’s sharp eyes flicked toward the staircase; he stood. “Awake?”

Lu You gave an “Mm,” and continued down. Qin Shuheng could only swallow his temper, yielding the head seat to Lu You, tidying away the copied scripture pages as he did.

He Zhuchun pushed the bouquet over with a show of claiming credit. “Like it?”

Lu You’s gaze lifted: a bouquet of Pearl Jasmine, thick as an armful, paired with green carnations and balloon flowers, quite exquisitely arranged; the jasmine’s scent was uncommonly rich, perfuming the air until the chest felt light and clear.

He accepted the refreshing tea Qin Shuheng handed over, took a sip, and asked, “Who sent it?”

“Who else? Me.” He Zhuchun smiled. “I picked jasmine specially—thought you’d like it.”

Lu You asked, “Does jasmine bloom this time of year?”

He Zhuchun said, “If the price is right, it’ll bloom in the bitterest depths of winter.”

Lu You’s lips tipped into a faint smile. He lightly touched a carnation. “Thank you. I like it very much.”

He Zhuchun said nothing, watching him with smiling eyes.

Lunchtime rolled around; Qin Shuheng busied himself arranging the meal, planning to fetch three bowls of beef noodles from the noodle shop at the street corner. Lu You nodded, drew three sheets of Memorial Petition Paper from beside him, dipped into the ink left over from Qin Shuheng’s copying, and began drafting the petitions.

He Zhuchun watched. “These are for Chen Zhuzhuo?”

Lu You said, “Yes.”

He Zhuchun behaved himself and watched; after a while he asked, “What’s this writing? It doesn’t look like Chinese characters.”

Three sheets of petition paper, drafted at speed, were soon set aside to dry, five or six vertical lines of script on each, none of the content legible. Using the interval, Lu You also drafted three Talismans and set them out together.

Lu You said, “It’s Immortal Script.”

He Zhuchun, enlightened: “So those things you were chanting before—that’s the spirits’ tongue?”

“Correct.” Lu You explained, “It’s also called Upper Realm Celestial Speech—a language belonging solely to the animal immortals for speaking among themselves.”

He Zhuchun: “No wonder I can’t read it.”

Lu You waited for the ink to dry, lifted the Altar Seal, and stamped three great seals evenly across each petition; then he rose to the altar, set the three sheets and three talismans on the Altar Offering Table, placed the bouquet before them, drew a palm-sized red paper, and wrote the great characters: “Respectfully offered by He Zhuchun,” setting it at the altar’s edge.

Only when everything was in readiness did he draw the incense and light it—through the curling wisps of smoke, offering the incense, passing it through the fragrance—completing the simple submission of the petitions and the Consecration Ritual of the talismans.

Finished, he went upstairs for his phone and a small kraft paper pouch, folded the petitions simply, tucked them inside together, and messaged Chen Zhuzhuo to come collect them.

He Zhuchun still sat there, and out of the corner of his eye caught something red flash hurriedly within the little pouch. He understood in his heart, but didn’t expose it—just smiled, poured himself a cup of tea, and said nothing more.

Chen Zhuzhuo arrived quickly. Driving the secondhand Volkswagen up to the storefront, he found the three of them mid-slurp over noodles. Lu You handed him the small pouch and walked him through the precautions once more.

“If anything goes wrong, call me any time.”

Chen Zhuzhuo took it with both hands, nodded, and drove home; one jolt on the road, and something slipped from the pouch. He picked it up one-handed, looked—and found it was the Red Envelope Chen Lihua had entrusted to He Zhuchun to pass along yesterday.

He started—then opened the envelope.

Inside, what had been neatly stacked three thousand three hundred now counted out, on a second look, to just three thousand two hundred.

…

That bouquet of jasmine truly was fragrant beyond measure. By Qin Shuheng’s account, He Zhuchun had headed out early that morning to who-knows-where, lingering outside all morning, until near ten o’clock he came sauntering back cradling the bouquet, drenched in flower scent. The bouquet sat in the shop only a short while before—not just the room, but the very people in it were pickled through with the fragrance.

He Zhuchun was again scrolling through his phone; he pulled up that old file and passed it to Lu You.

He Zhuchun said, “Actually I still have one question. If the grad students were all pre-selected, why am I the only one left so far untouched by the Fortune Stealing?”

Lu You combed through all the student records and answered, “Because your fate is the best of the lot.”

He Zhuchun said, “How can you tell?”

“Eight Characters of Birth.” Lu You’s hand dipped down, drawing from his pocket a flyer folded into a tiny square, and opened it.

He Zhuchun recognized it—the Graduate Exam Escort Cram Class flyer Chen Zhuzhuo had shown them yesterday. It had apparently ridden along in Lu You’s pocket all the way back.

Lu You pointed at the man on the paper and asked him, “Do you know his address?”

“I do.” He Zhuchun started searching his contacts. “But it’s three years old—no telling whether he’s moved.”

“Found him.”

He Zhuchun pulled up a contact saved under the name “Qi Feng” and showed Lu You the note.

Building 27, Unit 1, Room 1601, Vanke City Estate, Jianshe Road.

Lu You draped a jacket over his arm, tucked the morning’s talismans into the jacket pocket, and said, “Let’s go.”

Vanke City was a good half hour’s drive away. Lu You had meant to ride, but at the e-bike he discovered He Zhuchun last night had only parked it—never charged it.

Lu You turned his head, gaze lingering and meaningful; He Zhuchun held up his phone. “Let’s take a cab. It’s on me.”

Lu You had no choice; he plugged the bike in to charge and nodded assent.

By the time they stood at the estate’s entrance it was nearly two o’clock, the sun hanging brazenly overhead. Lu You gazed inward, inexplicably felt a chill at his back, and cautiously swept a circle around them.

He Zhuchun, seeing this, asked, “What’s wrong?”

Lu You’s eyes slanted, and he withdrew his gaze. “Nothing. Let’s head in.”

The two picked their way to Building 27, Unit 1, and only after entering the elevator remembered that elevators in these compounds generally need a card swipe.

He Zhuchun considered. “Sixteenth floor. Not too high. Let’s climb.”

Lu You shut his eyes hard, put himself through a truly heroic stretch of mental preparation, and finally said, “…Fine.”

These days everyone says college students are fragile as glass—thank goodness He Zhuchun was a graduate student; he climbed to the sixteenth floor without so much as shortening his breath. Lu You was another story; back there he was halfway to dead.

Twenty-five is a threshold—and Lu You was already twenty-eight.

For someone who never exercised, violent exertion brought severe aftermath: limbs gone to jelly, whole body wrung out, coughing and watering eyes.

Lu You wiped his eyes, pausing on the last half flight to rest his feet; He Zhuchun stood at the finish line cheering him on.

He Zhuchun encouraged, “Great Immortal, don’t cry! We’re almost there!”

Lu You, barely evening out his breathing, said, “I’m not crying. Physiological reaction.”

He Zhuchun eyed those red-rimmed corners, hands suddenly itching, tempted to pull out his phone for a snapshot.

Grand Immortal Lu, eyes rubbed red, coughing and gasping—odds were he’d never catch that sight a second time.

Luckily it stayed a thought, never an act. Seeing Lu You dawdling below, legs plainly refusing to lift, he descended a few steps and offered his hand. “Come, I’ll pull you up.”

Lu You looked up at him a moment, then reached out and took it.

Vanke City Estate was built two households per stairwell. As they stepped out of the stairwell door toward Room 1601, they happened upon another household’s owner returning home.

The owner was an old woman of sixty or seventy; her hair gone white to the root, her back bent as she emerged from the elevator. A pair of murky, gray-tinged eyes fixed on the two of them. “Who are you? Unfamiliar faces.”

He Zhuchun explained with a smile, “Grandma, we’re friends of the owner here. We’ve come about some business with him.”

The old woman asked, “The owner—what’s his name?”

He Zhuchun answered, “Qi Feng. Grandma, do you know him?”

“Qi Feng? He moved away long ago.”

As she spoke, the old woman’s grip tightened on the plastic bag in her hand.

—Inside it was a carp she’d just bought. The fish had been slaughtered fresh at the market, dead through and through by now, but its nervous system still functioning, twitching now and then inside the black plastic bag.

Lu You, still bent slightly and catching his breath, swept his gaze past—and through the open mouth of the bag locked eyes, dead-on, with a fish eye flecked with blood.

An involuntary wave of nausea; a fishy stench wreathed his nose that no amount of waving would clear.

He Zhuchun was still pressing questions. “Moved away? When?”

The old woman thought. “A little over a year ago, I’d say. Heard it was family trouble. The flat’s been up for sale forever—never sold. It’s stood empty more than a year now, nobody living here.”

He Zhuchun kept asking, “Do you know where he moved to?”

The old woman said, “Someplace called the Splendid Flower Compound, I think. I remember him mentioning it once.”

He Zhuchun seemed rather surprised at the name. “The Splendid Flower Compound? Are you sure?”

Before the old woman could answer, Lu You suddenly spoke. “That fish of yours looks fresh. Where did you buy it?”

The old woman startled; a hand spotted with age marks pointed out along the window. “At the market over there.”

“Do the vendors at the market kill and clean the fish for you?”

The old woman said, “They do. Gut it too.”

He Zhuchun glanced sideways at Lu You, not understanding where he found the leisure for such questions—but he didn’t actually voice it.

Lu You said, smiling, “And how are you planning to cook it at home?”

The old woman seemed to grow impatient under the questioning; her eyes slid upward at Lu You, the broad whites of them smeared with half a black blotch—like a puddle of black water melting down from the eyeball itself.

Her speech, for no clear reason, slowed to a crawl. “Braised in soy, I suppose. My darling grandchild loves braised fish.”

Lu You, though, said, “Braised in soy doesn’t sound right. If I recall, the dead prefer theirs raw.”

He Zhuchun’s head whipped around. “…?!”

The old woman fixed him with a grim, menacing stare, and smiled. “Young one, that’s an unkind thing to say. Are you cursing this old woman to her death?”

By their current positioning, one stood at the middle of the stairwell’s divider gate, the other out of the elevator at her own door.

Lu You casually pushed the stairwell gate half-shut—revealing behind it an enormous black garbage bag, knotted tight, yet still unable to contain the filthy refuse within; a thin trickle of foul water had seeped out onto the ground.

With one hand, Lu You lifted the bag open, exposing the fish scales, swim bladders, and other viscera within, then toed it out into the open, pointing it out for the old woman to see.

“Grandmother, your garbage wasn’t hidden in a very good spot. I stumbled on it by accident.”

He paused, then added, “Then again, perhaps ‘garbage’ isn’t the right word—seeing as the meat has already gone to feed the big Ghosts, and the Little Ghosts deserve a taste of the blood too. Only question is whether this much is enough to fill them up.”

“Wouldn’t you say?”