Chapter 36.4: One Night Back to Liberation

Though his eyes were closed, vivid images swam through Li Zhuiyuan’s mind—atmospheres and scenes drawn straight from the text. His hands moved erratically, fingers tracing unseen patterns. To an outsider, he might have looked like a boy pretending to be an orchestra conductor. But in his perception, each gesture teased out a different aquatic environment, each one unique and distinct.

Books like these couldn’t be mastered through rote memorization. True understanding demanded something deeper—a kind of mystical appreciation, as if one were savoring a complex piece of art. Only then could one claim to have truly grasped it.

Sweat beaded on his brow. His expression alternated between deep concentration and brief relaxation.

When he finally finished organizing his thoughts, he opened his eyes. Exhaustion clouded them.

Sitting up, he noticed the stickiness on his face—it was a nosebleed, and not a small one. His clothes were soaked through with blood.

Li Zhuiyuan knew this was his body’s warning—a sign of mental overexertion.

In just a few days, he had fully absorbed The Liu Clan's Art of Observing Qi. Even for him, this had been an immense strain. He had pulled it off, but he told himself he couldn’t keep doing this. Next time, the damage might not be just mental—it could be physical, too.

After a bath and a change of clothes, he washed the bloodstained garments by hand. Then he went downstairs and told Aunt Liu he was too tired for dinner. Instead, he headed to the backyard.

Li Sanjiang was helping the masons with construction. They were building an annex that leaned against the rear wall of the main house and would be finished before nightfall.

Li Zhuiyuan explained he wouldn’t be eating dinner and that he had stayed up too late studying. He just needed to sleep.

He hadn’t intended anything more than to prevent his great-grandfather from worrying or coming to check on him later.

But Li Sanjiang’s eyes immediately turned red. He waved Li Zhuiyuan off, signaling him to go rest.

After the boy left, Li Sanjiang wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand.

“He says it doesn’t matter just to put me at ease. But Little Yuanhou’s worried too. Listen to him. He never used to care about studying, let alone stay up late doing it.”

On his way back around the house, Li Zhuiyuan skirted the east wing’s door. He had to keep a wide berth—otherwise Ah Li would panic.

From a safe distance, he stood still and watched her for a long time.

He had once worried he wouldn’t adapt after returning to Beijing, that he’d miss Ah Li too much.

Now he knew better. He wouldn’t adapt—couldn’t.

Just as Ah Li had grown used to the dark, he had grown used to wearing masks.

If they had never experienced what they had, everything might have gone on as before. But having lived it… there was no going back.

“Little Yuan, come have tea with Grandma.”

“No, Grandma. I’m really tired. I’ll go lie down.”

Back in his room, he collapsed onto the bed and fell asleep almost immediately. He was truly spent.

He slept until deep into the night. Upon waking, he got up quietly and retrieved some items from his great-grandfather’s room. The old man was fast asleep—thunder wouldn’t have stirred him.

Downstairs, the television displayed a static image.

Runsheng lay on a floor mat by the table, curled around a small black dog, sound asleep.

That little black dog was Runsheng’s responsibility now—not that it needed much care. Most of the time it just slept in its kennel. It had taken Li Sanjiang several days to even notice the dog was in the house.

“Runsheng-ge, wake up.”

“Mm... What is it, Little Yuan?”

“Come with me. Bring the gear.”

“Alright!”

Li Zhuiyuan gathered some incense and candles, then grabbed a few food offerings from the kitchen. Outside, he saw Runsheng readying the tricycle cart.

“Runsheng-ge, it’s close. We’ll walk.”

“Okay.” Runsheng followed, shouldering a large burlap sack. He lowered his voice, asking, “Little Yuan, are we going to deal with them?”

“Deal with who?”

“Those guys who leased the fish pond.”

“The police are handling them.”

“Then what are we doing?”

“We’re asking someone for help.”

Runsheng glanced at his sack, then at the incense in Li Zhuiyuan’s hands.

“To ask for help, we bring this?”

They arrived at a fish pond—directly across from the bearded man’s house.

His wife had already left with their eldest son. The house was up for sale, but since the property wasn’t easy to sell to outsiders—and given someone had just drowned in front—it carried a sinister reputation. Even at a low price, no one had dared take it.

That made it one of the quietest, most secluded spots in the village.

Standing at the pond’s edge, Li Zhuiyuan closed his eyes, then opened them slowly. The Liu Clan’s Art of Observing Qi rose in his mind.

He had brought Little Oriole here. Now he needed to find out if she was still around.

Color of the water, state of the aquatic plants, the breeze skimming the surface—every tiny detail came together in his mind’s eye.

He moved along the pond’s perimeter, scanning carefully. Finally, he was certain.

There was a Dead Sinker here.

Little Oriole was still here.

“Runsheng-ge, here, here, and here—dig small holes and place incense sticks.”

“Got it.” Runsheng went to work with the Yellow River Spade.

Meanwhile, Li Zhuiyuan threw offerings into specific sections of the pond and placed two candles at the southwestern “receiving” position. He lit them.

Then he ignited a stack of Yellow Paper in the candle flame.

“Runsheng-ge, unless I call for you, don’t move. Stay back and follow when I tell you.”

Runsheng obediently backed away, but asked, puzzled, “Follow you guys?”

Li Zhuiyuan waved the burning Yellow Paper, chanting:

“I, Li Zhuiyuan, humbly invite you to rise from the water. Three offerings in return.”

Slap!

The Yellow Paper hit the soil and went out.

Turning his back to the pond, Li Zhuiyuan cradled the Incense Burner in his left hand and raised a bell in his right.

Even from a distance, Runsheng saw it clearly: ripples disturbed the pond, and then—

A woman with long hair emerged.

A Dead Sinker!

Runsheng’s breathing quickened. He wanted to cry out, to warn Little Yuan, but stopped himself. The boy had summoned this thing.

And then the realization struck: Little Yuan can summon Dead Sinkers!

He’d grown up watching his grandfather retrieve corpses—always reactively. Never had he imagined something like this was even possible!

How had Little Yuan done it?

Cold, wet hands landed on his shoulders. Li Zhuiyuan felt their weight, the moisture soaking into his clothes.

That familiar sensation returned.

This time, though, he wasn’t afraid. Still, just to be safe, he called for Runsheng.

Ding ding ding… ding ding ding…

The clear bell rang. Li Zhuiyuan stepped forward.

The figure behind him followed.

Under the moonlight,

two shadows stretched across the ground—one tall, one short.

…

East Wing Bedroom.

Liu Yumei fanned Ah Li, who lay with eyes wide open, unable to sleep.

That boy used to lull her to sleep every night. She’d close her eyes and drift off quickly, eager to wake early, do her hair, and go see him.

Suddenly, Liu Yumei felt something. She went to the window and peeked outside. Then she turned to see Ah Li, who slowly, gently closed her eyes.

“This… this is…”

Even Liu Yumei, who’d weathered much in life, was momentarily speechless.

Then she remembered what the boy had told her the other day:

“Grandma, Ah Li went back to her room. We have to find a way to call her out again, so I can apologize face to face.”

A wry smile spread across Liu Yumei’s face.

“Is this how young people arrange late-night meetings now?”

…

Shaking his bell and carrying the Incense Burner, Li Zhuiyuan climbed the embankment and came to a stop.

Then he closed his eyes.

Though wet and freezing, he forced himself into a half-dream, half-waking state—enough to walk the shade.

When he reopened his eyes, he looked behind him. The figure in the qipao was still there. Runsheng, however, was nowhere to be seen.

Good. The dreamlike realm had taken hold.

“Please wait here. I’ll send you back shortly.”

He put down the bell and burner, and stepped forward.

Freed from the spirit’s grip, he left her behind—arms still raised, unmoving.

He walked to the East Wing and paused.

Then, the girl appeared.

This time, she didn’t ignore him like in daylight. Her eyes locked on his.

In the pitch-black night,

on the embankment,

stood a boy, a girl,

and a Dead Sinker.

The boy looked at the girl and said sincerely:

“Ah Li, will you forgive me?”

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