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As Di Jiang watched Lord Rui’an disappear down the alley, the coffin shop across the way opened its doors just then.
While Zhong Xu was tidying up the wooden boards outside his shop, he accidentally locked eyes with Di Jiang. Seeing this, Di Jiang immediately gave him a bright smile. However, Zhong Xu maintained his usual expression, as though everyone in the world owed him five hundred taels of silver. He simply nodded and continued arranging the boards.
Di Jiang had no time to tease him; she still needed to prepare medicine for Wu Jingyi. At that moment, Shu Xiang stepped out, and she instructed him, “We still have plenty of angelica left over from Boss Luo’s last delivery, and he’s sending more after the New Year. Take the remaining stock to Princess Zhaohe, but grind it into powder first—outsiders won’t be able to tell what it is.”
“Yes, boss,” Shu Xiang replied, nodding as he began rummaging through the cabinets for the angelica.
After a moment’s thought, Di Jiang called Shu Xiang back to add, “Don’t write ‘angelica’ on the prescription. Just say aged ginseng paired with cordyceps, and throw in something they’ve never heard of—something like Snow Lotus from Mount Nu. Make it sound fancy, and charge ten times the price. Lord Rui’an isn’t short on money.”
“Understood,” Shu Xiang sighed, his face blank as he sat at the consultation desk to write the prescription.
Zhong Xu, standing at the entrance of his coffin shop, had observed everything. His face was a riot of emotions, which only made Di Jiang chuckle inwardly.
Di Jiang flashed him a smile. “Boss Zhong, let me tell you something—when doing business with Lord Rui’an, don’t hold back. A royal deal like this doesn’t come around often. One transaction can sustain you for three years!”
With a loud bang , Zhong Xu turned around and shut the shop door without another word.
“What’s wrong with him?” Di Jiang turned to ask Shu Xiang.
Shu Xiang shook his head and sighed, focusing on writing the prescription without answering her question.
Just as Di Jiang was about to ask again, a familiar figure appeared at the corner of the street. Dressed in fine silk robes and walking with an air of distinction, it was none other than Lord Rui’an himself.
“Why has His Highness returned so soon?” Di Jiang, fearing he might insist on watching her prepare the medicine, quickly grabbed a handful of angelica and pretended to grind it. However, Lord Rui’an merely nodded at her in greeting before striding directly into the coffin shop across the way.
“What could a noble lord like him possibly need from a humble coffin shop, visiting it repeatedly?” Wen Yao wondered aloud, curiosity written all over her face.
Di Jiang chuckled. “He’s certainly not here to buy coffins. I suspect it’s related to Zhong Xu’s side business.”
Di Jiang knew there weren’t many genuine Daoist practitioners in the world, and Zhong Xu was one of the best.
A short while later, just as Shu Xiang finished wrapping the herbs, Lord Rui’an emerged from Zhong Xu’s shop. The two exchanged a few words under the eaves before parting ways. Soon after, Zhong Xu took up his longsword and disappeared, his face dark with resolve, as if he were off to confront a blood feud.
Seeing this, Di Jiang hurried over to Lord Rui’an, stopping in front of him. “Your Highness, the medicine is ready. Would you like to take it now, or shall I send someone to deliver it to the mansion later?”
“Give it to me. The sooner Jingyi takes the medicine, the sooner she’ll recover,” Lord Rui’an replied.
“Your Highness speaks wisely,” Di Jiang smiled sweetly, handing over the package of angelica along with an exorbitant bill.
“Thank you, Doctor Di,” Lord Rui’an said, tucking the bill into his sleeve without even glancing at it. “I’ll have the steward send the payment later.”
Di Jiang bowed deeply, thanking him profusely. “Thank you, Your Highness.”
“I have other matters to attend to. I’ll take my leave now.”
“Yes, Di Jiang bids farewell to Your Highness.” As Di Jiang finished speaking, she suddenly remembered something and called out after him. “May I ask where Master Zhong has gone? We had agreed to share lunch today, but he’s nowhere to be found. It’s left me quite at a loss…”
“So Doctor Di and Master Zhong had prior plans? Forgive my rudeness,” Lord Rui’an frowned, his expression tinged with apology. “I sent him to Chuyun Nunnery to handle some matters. He likely won’t return for a while.”
“Ah, naturally your affairs take precedence. Meals can wait,” Di Jiang curtsied respectfully. “I won’t delay Your Highness any further. Di Jiang takes her leave.”
“Then I shall host a banquet another day to thank both of you,” Lord Rui’an nodded briefly before turning and striding away.
Once Lord Rui’an had left, Wen Yao approached Di Jiang. “Boss, when did we agree to meet with Zhong Xu? I wasn’t aware of it.”
Di Jiang shot her a glance. “There’s much you don’t know. Go get ready. We’re heading to Chuyun Nunnery.”
“A nunnery? Why are we going there for no reason?” Wen Yao’s eyes widened in surprise.
“To pray for marriage prospects.”
“What?” Wen Yao’s jaw nearly dropped. “Boss, what kind of joke is this? If you want to pray for marriage, you should go to the Moon Elder Shrine. Chuyun Nunnery doesn’t have that function!”
“Enough chatter. Go fetch some incense from the backyard.”
“Yes…”
Though Wen Yao was clearly reluctant, she didn’t dare ask more questions, seeing how urgent Di Jiang seemed. Frowning, she reluctantly headed to the firewood shed. A moment later, she retrieved a full set of ritual incense and candles from the ashes, carefully arranging them in a bamboo basket before carrying it out to follow Di Jiang.
No sooner had they left the city gates than a drizzle began to fall. Their clothes grew damp and sticky, and even umbrellas offered little protection. Outside the moat, crows cawed incessantly, their cries sending shivers down one’s spine. Annoyed, Di Jiang glanced at the moat and noticed the riverbank overrun with weeds—not a single otter in sight.
It was the rainy season, when otters traditionally performed their “fish offering” ritual, a natural prayer for favorable weather. This was common in previous years, but this year, not a single otter was seen.
An uneasy feeling stirred in Di Jiang’s heart. Her instincts told her this wouldn’t be a peaceful year. Turning to Wen Yao, she said, “Later, go invite Tamo to visit. Tell him I’ve selected some new tea and would like him to take some back for his clan.”
“Yes,” Wen Yao nodded. “Boss, it’s not even noon yet, but the sky is already so dark.”
“Indeed, black clouds press upon the city walls, as if ready to collapse…” Di Jiang sighed, then noticed Wen Yao pulling a lantern from the bamboo basket. The lantern lit up on its own once opened, remaining unextinguished even in the rain.
“This is a fine treasure. I thought it was lost.”
“It hasn’t been lost. We used it last during Miss Jun Ci’s funeral. It’s been sitting in the basket, waiting for weather like this.”
“Oh,” Di Jiang murmured, her thoughts drifting to Jun Ci. Her heart ached as she recalled, “Jun Ci was always a trustworthy supplier for our clinic. When she passed, I mourned her death by fasting for three days… But enough of that.”
“Yes…”
Mentioning Jun Ci silenced Wen Yao as well. The two walked silently, their steps in sync. After about half an hour, the rain grew heavier, falling steadily in the dark, wind-whipped sky. Along the narrow paths by the fields, few travelers were seen. Aside from Di Jiang and Wen Yao, only the faint glow of two lanterns beside the gates of Chuyun Nunnery pierced the darkness, their light particularly striking against the black night.
Di Jiang led Wen Yao forward. As soon as they entered the nunnery, a nun approached, handing them each three sticks of incense.
“Amitabha. Thank you, Sister,” Di Jiang clasped her hands together, bowing reverently.
Chuyun Nunnery had been built recently, and this was Di Jiang’s first visit. She pulled Wen Yao to kneel on the prayer cushions. Looking up, she noticed the statue of the bodhisattva enshrined in the hall seemed strangely familiar.
The bodhisattva held a jewel in her right hand, her left hand extended downward with fingers pointing to the ground, palm facing outward—a gesture of granting wishes.
“It looks like… the original vow emblem of Ksitigarbha Bodhisattva,” Wen Yao remarked quietly beside her.
Di Jiang’s mouth dropped open in surprise.
Sure enough, the nun explained, “Amitabha. Chuyun Nunnery venerates Ksitigarbha Bodhisattva, who has cultivated compassion for countless eons. Our Buddha fulfills the wishes of sentient beings, granting whatever prayers they offer.”
Di Jiang paused, then resumed her composure, bowing deeply to the statue with a smile. “What a wonderful bodhisattva.”
Hearing Di Jiang’s lukewarm response, the nun’s expression faltered slightly. Unhappy, she said faintly, “Amitabha. Please feel free to look around. This humble nun must go chant sutras and pray for blessings.”
“Sister, go ahead,” Di Jiang said, relieved as the nun walked away. Truthfully, she wasn’t fond of temples or nunneries. While meeting enlightened monks who taught the Dharma was fine, she dreaded encountering stubborn preachers obsessed with spreading empty promises of wish fulfillment, wasting people’s sincerity.
“What’s that?” Di Jiang’s sharp eyes caught sight of a peculiar memorial tablet tucked inconspicuously beside the main altar. Smaller than the others, it bore not the name or birth date of a deceased person, but instead the frequently mentioned Lord Rui’an.
Wen Yao noticed the oddity as well, frowning. “Boss, haven’t you noticed something strange about Lord Rui’an lately?”
“Hmm?”
“He looks normal enough, but I can’t shake the feeling that his aura is different—it’s eerie. I can’t quite put my finger on it.”
“Death qi,” Di Jiang stated bluntly, not intending to hide it.
“That’s it!” Wen Yao snapped her fingers. “It’s the same death qi we see every day—but not entirely. Boss, you must save him!”
“You know I don’t treat humans, only ghosts,” Di Jiang clasped her hands together, bowing deeply to the statue in the hall with a smile. “Besides, life and death are predetermined, wealth and rank are heaven-sent. Lord Rui’an has lived a carefree life, and his fate is his own. Why are you so worried?”
“I’m not worried—I just pity him…” Wen Yao scratched her head, staring hopefully at Di Jiang, hoping to satisfy her curiosity. But Di Jiang ignored her, standing up to donate some incense money before heading toward the rear courtyard.
Left with no choice, Wen Yao followed behind.
Along the way, Di Jiang noticed nothing amiss except for a few nuns sweeping the grounds. They didn’t trouble the pair, merely bowing and chanting, “Amitabha,” before continuing their work.
Passing through the second hall, the two entered the rear garden. There, plum blossoms bloomed in fierce competition, their fiery red hues almost unnatural.
“I’ve never seen plum blossoms like these,” Wen Yao muttered, stunned. Slapping her cheeks lightly, she exclaimed, “Am I seeing things? Are these even plum blossoms? They’re redder than rhododendrons!”
Di Jiang sighed. “That’s because there are spirits buried beneath the plum trees.”
As she spoke, an ominous feeling rose in her heart. She thought grimly, If even I can sense the ghostly energy here, Zhong Xu surely knows as well. Hurrying into the plum grove, she searched for the sword-wielding Daoist, hoping he hadn’t struck yet and had spared the spirit’s life.
The rain grew heavier as they ventured deeper into the grove. The scent of flowers intensified, mingling with a crimson-like aura that made their hair stand on end. Wen Yao, trailing behind, couldn’t stop fidgeting with her soaked clothing.
About fifteen minutes later, they discovered the white-robed Daoist at the foot of the mountain.
Zhong Xu stood there, his flowing white robes fluttering in the wind. His longsword was already unsheathed, its tip pointed at a woman dressed in a red bridal gown floating before him.
The red-clad woman drifted weightlessly in the air, her eyes blood-red, her face greenish and grotesque.
What else could she be but a ghostly apparition?
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