Chapter 58:
The Tomb of the Jiang King (Part 1):
“Jiang Wuwen Loved Jiang Henian…”
The historical accounts claimed that Emperor Yu Lin’s death had plunged the nation into mourning, his remains interred in the imperial tomb in Kunnan Mountain. But despite numerous expeditions, scholars and archaeologists had failed to locate the tomb, leading many to believe it was a fabrication, or that the emperor’s death was shrouded in mystery.
Now, Daoist practitioners had finally located the tomb, but it wasn’t Yu Lin’s. Chen Henian knew this for certain. He was bound to the ghost, Yu Lin’s soul tethered to his, inhabiting his body, walking the earth, unaffected by its yang energy.
Yu Lin’s body was buried elsewhere, in the mountains of Dongpi Village.
Dongpi Village…
A flicker of memory, a shadowy image.
A mountain shrouded in mist, a place of darkness and evil.
Suddenly, his eyes widened in realization.
He understood.
His grandfather had said that guarding the mountain was the Chen family’s fate, their blood tied to that land.
A secret worth protecting with their lives. His grandfather, his ancestors, they had all lost their lives, buried in Dongpi Village.
His grandfather had died not knowing what he was guarding. Just a mountain? Impossible. No mountain, no matter how auspicious its feng shui, was worth a family’s lives.
His ancestors had been Daoist practitioners, serving the imperial court, guarding a tomb hidden in the mountains, guarding Jiang Wuwen!
His grandfather, on his deathbed, had been filled with regret, his duty unfulfilled, but the Chen family hadn’t broken their oath. The tomb remained undisturbed, its secrets safe, and Chen Henian had inadvertently taken its occupant with him.
Jiang Wuwen, a proud and benevolent emperor, his life a mystery, even after a thousand years, a mystery Chen Henian intended to unravel.
Zuo He knew more about Kunnan Mountain than they did. The orthodox sects and folk practitioners had gathered, the date set. Chen Henian bought train tickets, planning to arrive two days early.
Zuo He said the gathering was large, experienced elders assessing the tomb’s feng shui, concluding that it possessed the conditions to create a powerful jiangshi. They were there to prevent a thousand-year-old corpse from rising.
Millennial ghosts and jiangshi were rare, most destroyed by heavenly tribulation or ascending to immortality. Their presence in the mortal world would bring chaos.
Fortunately, the Daoists didn’t know about Yu Lin’s existence. Zhou Xianzhi had been one step ahead, the fire in Dongpi Village revealing only the Tai Yin body.
This journey brought new challenges. The ghost had to remain hidden within him. The old Daoists had keen senses, they couldn’t detect its presence.
He needed a new strategy.
Zuo He often went out, buying groceries, running errands, borrowing and returning books. They had devoured almost every historical record of the Jiang Dynasty, the accounts of Jiang Wuwen’s life surprisingly sparse, his accomplishments well-documented, but his personal life a mystery, even the circumstances of his death shrouded in secrecy, his sudden demise attributed to sorcery, his burial hasty, the royal family not even allowed to see his body.
His early death, his only blemish.
“Unofficial histories are always more interesting than official records,” Jiang Wan said. “I found a new theory, quite plausible, actually.”
“Tell me,” Chen Henian looked up, his patience for this matter surprisingly enduring. He wanted to know more.
Jiang Wan smiled. “If you’re the reincarnation of Jiang Henian, then… his ghost’s attachment to you makes sense. To care for someone so deeply, to sacrifice everything, that’s love.”
“Jiang Wuwen loved Jiang Henian, deeply. And Jiang Henian loved him back.”
Chen Henian’s expression remained unchanged, his eyes unwavering, neither angered nor moved by her words, much to her disappointment.
“Do you think I’m talking nonsense?” she asked.
“Obviously,” Zuo He said, his voice serious. “He thinks so, and so do I. Isn’t this disrespectful to our ancestors?”
“You’re a masculine man,” Jiang Wan said to Zuo He, then turned to Chen Henian. “But you’re a Tai Yin body, you’re not masculine.”
“That’s your great discovery?” Chen Henian retorted, unimpressed by her assessment.
“Jiang Wan, this isn’t the time for jokes,” Zuo He said. “Personality has nothing to do with physical constitution.”
“Let me finish! I have my reasons. Women are more perceptive than men.” She rolled her eyes. “You’re thinking, they were both men, right? But homosexuality existed in ancient times. It wasn’t a big deal.”
“The imperial family, the royal court, they valued heirs, especially male heirs. But neither Jiang Henian nor Jiang Wuwen married. In those times, people had children at seventeen. Don’t you find that strange? A man’s desires are hard to hide. Are you saying they were both impotent?”
“You…” Zuo He protested. “How can you say that? Perhaps they were too busy with affairs of state to be concerned with romance.”
“Which emperor or official wasn’t busy? There are records of King Wu urging Jiang Henian to choose a concubine, but the Crown Prince refused, kneeling for a day and a night, until the King relented.”
“And after ascending the throne, Yu Lin didn’t establish a harem, didn’t try to produce an heir. Either he was impotent, or he simply didn’t like women. He preferred men. Some scholars believe that’s the case.” Jiang Wan presented her arguments. “And the history books describe Jiang Henian as Yu Lin’s mentor, his patron, even granting him military power, paving the way for his ascension. For a crown prince, that’s either foolish or love.”
“Chen Henian, which do you think it is?”
Chen Henian listened, his lips pressed together, his expression unreadable. He wouldn’t say “foolish,” not even about his past self. As for love, he wasn’t convinced, so he remained silent.
“Of course, this is just speculation, but one thing confirms my theory.” Jiang Wan leaned closer, her eyes gleaming with confidence. “Because the ghost, it’s in love with a human.”
“That ghost likes you, Chen Henian, there’s no doubt about it.”
“All ghosts like me,” Chen Henian said flatly.
“This is different,” Jiang Wan chuckled. “The kind of ‘like’ you’re talking about wouldn’t be affected by a love Gu.”
“A love Gu amplifies emotions, romantic feelings. I sensed something between you and that ghost in Yunan. I thought you were already involved. But you seem so detached.”
“Do you even know what love is? It’s not like liking a dish.”
“It’s romantic love, with sexual desire.”
“Love?” Chen Henian frowned. “Nonsense.”
Jiang Wan persisted, her eyes shining with conviction. “If I were a ghost, I would devour you in an instant.”
“The Daoists fear the millennial jiangshi because such powerful entities, regardless of their past lives, whether generals, emperors, or benevolent healers, are driven by primal desires. The stronger the ghost, the stronger the desire. It’s not eating you, so it must want something else. What do you think it wants, Chen Henian?”
He didn’t answer, and she continued, her voice playful. “I thought you knew, but you’re completely clueless?”
“Then be careful. Love can turn to hate, and unrequited love can be dangerous. You might not even know how you died, or who devoured you. There are many possibilities.”
Chen Henian remained silent, but Zuo He couldn’t contain himself any longer. “Men with men is one thing, but humans and ghosts are different. It’s wrong, unnatural. Don’t let it drain your essence, it’ll shorten your lifespan.”
“That’s not true,” Jiang Wan countered. “He’s a Tai Yin body, the stronger his yin energy, the more powerful he becomes. Perhaps they can cultivate together, a mutually beneficial relationship. Am I wrong?”
Zuo He paused. She wasn’t wrong, but he still frowned. “It makes sense, but there’s no precedent. It’s unsettling.”
“Why should you be unsettled?” Chen Henian slammed his hand on the table. “What are you talking about? We’re discussing Jiang Wuwen, sorcery, his tomb, why are you discussing this nonsense?”
“Because it’s important whether you like it or not, Chen Henian,” Jiang Wan said, smiling.
Chen Henian stood up, glaring at her. “If you’re bored, go pick some vegetables.” He went upstairs.
Jiang Wan watched him leave, giggling softly. “It seems the ghost isn’t the only one with feelings.”
“What makes you say that?” Zuo He asked.
“Have you been paying attention to him at all?” she said, her voice knowing. “If I was wrong, he would have scoffed, his face expressionless, treating me like a fool, until I realized my mistake, then he would laugh, enjoying my humiliation.”
Zuo He paused, unable to argue with her assessment.
She was right.
But Jiang Wan didn’t go pick vegetables. She went to the bookstore, borrowing two romance novels, placing them on the table for Chen Henian to read, advising him to educate himself on matters of the heart.
Chen Henian rolled his eyes, refusing to read them. She didn’t press him, but he still took out his frustration on Xiao Bai, reducing its food rations, forbidding Zuo He from buying it any more meat.
Xiao Bai, aggrieved, nudged his hand with its head, but he pushed it away. Jiang Wan, knowing his heartlessness, and deprived of her entertainment, went out to earn money for Xiao Bai’s meat.
Chen Henian enjoyed the peace and quiet.
He wasn’t annoyed with Jiang Wan, just her words, their constant presence in his mind. They hadn’t taken any jobs for days, preparing for their trip to Kunnan Mountain. He spent his free time reinforcing his red strings with chicken blood and ink, a potent weapon against jiangshi, and packing pouches of glutinous rice for each of them.
He didn’t like being idle, Jiang Wan’s words still echoing in his mind, a strange unease. He couldn’t understand his own feelings, so he tried to eliminate the source of his discomfort.
That night, he refused the ghost’s embrace.
The thought of being held made his skin crawl.
The ghost paused, standing silently by the bed for five minutes, then turned to him, its voice questioning. “Why?”
“You’re a man, and so am I,” Chen Henian said. “We can’t be in bed together.”
“Why not?” the ghost asked. “We can hold each other.”
“It’s not right,” Chen Henian replied.
“No,” the ghost said. “It is right.”
Chen Henian hadn’t expected that answer. “It’s written in the books,” the ghost continued.
“Books?” Chen Henian said. “You’ve been reading?”
He looked at the table, his eyes widening in surprise. “Those two books?”
“Yes,” the ghost nodded. “I can’t read all of it yet, but I understand some.”
“They can, so can we.”
“I love you, and you love me, don’t you?”
The ghost lowered its head, its voice slow and hesitant, each word carefully chosen. “I didn’t know… I said it wrong. I love you, not like. Like is… not enough, too frivolous. Love is… everything I have, everything I am, everything I want to give you.”
Chen Henian was silent for a moment. “Those are bad books, you shouldn’t read them, you shouldn’t learn from them,” he said.
The ghost’s voice turned cold. “Then I’m a bad ghost.”
“Can I hold you now?”
“You…”
Chen Henian looked at the ghost, his expression not one of disgust or annoyance, but a strange curiosity. “You seem to be a quick learner.”
The ghost nodded.
His usual coldness softened, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Then can you do this?”
“If you can, I’ll… reward you, like before.”
The ghost looked at him, waiting.
“Hide your presence, like… holding your breath, like me.” Chen Henian inhaled deeply, holding his breath, his arms open, his body exposed to the ghost’s gaze, their eyes locked for five seconds.
He had no scent now, no human presence, but his heart still beat, its rhythm audible to the ghost.
The ghost’s gaze followed his movements, then settled on his face.
Chen Henian walked closer, taking the ghost’s hand, his fingers gently caressing its cold skin.
“Be like me, don’t let me smell you,” he said, his voice soft yet commanding, a smile playing on his lips. “Try it.”
To conceal its presence was like asking a ferocious ghost to be gentle, an unnatural act. Great ghosts didn’t hide, they reveled in their power, their aura a weapon.
“You can do it, you haven’t disappointed me yet,” he said, the warmth in his voice, the subtle inflection, a reward, a sound the ghost cherished.
The ghost obeyed, its form shrinking, the black mist dissipating, like smoke from a chimney.
The last vestiges of its presence swirled around Chen Henian, then retreated into his body.
The room’s temperature returned to normal, the ghost’s scent gone. But this wasn’t enough. “I still want to hear you speak,” Chen Henian said. “Only I can hear you, understand?”
As he spoke, he felt a presence on his back, a soft, sticky sensation. It had understood.
Like a flat jellyfish, its short tendrils clinging to his back, anchoring itself to his spine, almost invisible beneath his clothes, another tendril sliding down his arm, through his sleeve.
It had concealed its aura, the tendril its only physical manifestation, agile and responsive, emerging from his sleeve, a short, black tip.
Chen Henian looked down, watching as the tendril curled upwards, forming a delicate arc, then touched his fingertip, and he heard the ghost’s deep voice in his mind.
“It’s me.”
“I can hear you, you can hear me.”
Yes, he could hear it clearly, its voice echoing in his mind. He closed his eyes, a smile spreading across his lips, a soft sigh of satisfaction. “Good, very good…”
