Chapter Thirty-Nine: Seeing You Off

In an instant, the three golden rings around the water ghost shone brilliantly, radiating dazzling light. The surrounding river water seemed to boil, churning ceaselessly.

With a rush, the gold light swept the water ghost up toward the river’s surface, moving so swiftly it left a trail of bubbles behind, like an arrow released from the bow. In the blink of an eye, it vanished.

In his daze, Cui Yue felt the grip on his throat loosen, the darkness before his eyes fading. Only the sound of flowing water remained; there was nothing else around him. He struggled to lift his hand, trying to swim upward, but his strength was utterly spent. His body was exhausted, and his mind, deprived of oxygen for too long, reeled with dizziness. Cui Yue tried desperately to open his eyes, but they would not obey. His body floated in the water, carried by a subtle current, gradually rising to the surface. Through the slits of his eyes, he faintly glimpsed a pale glow ahead, then lost consciousness.

“Cough, cough.”

Who knew how much time had passed? On a moonlit shallows, Cui Yue lay half sprawled on the shore, his waist still immersed in the river. With his eyes closed, he suddenly broke into a fit of coughing.

In his confusion, he felt as if he had finally settled, no longer drifting. Something pressed painfully against his chest and abdomen, and the sound of rushing water lingered in his ears. He slowly opened his eyes, seeing only darkness all around, save for the silent moonlight cast upon the sand and reflected in the water.

“Am I dead? Why is there a round moon under the river, and this cold wind?”

Utterly drained, Cui Yue gazed at the scene around him, guessing wildly. After a long while, he managed to turn over, lying on the sand, panting heavily. Night wind swept across, carrying hints of dampness, and he felt himself shivering from the wet and cold.

Weakly, Cui Yue lifted his hand, examining it back and forth before his eyes, muttering to himself.

“Am I dead? Why aren’t my hands swollen and pale like a water ghost’s?”

With a sudden jolt, he managed to sit up and carefully checked himself all over. Strangely, aside from a few dark marks around his wrists and ankles, he found nothing amiss. He was simply cold and shivering, otherwise unchanged.

“I—I’m alive?”

He pinched his thigh hard, grimacing in pain, finally realizing he had escaped death. He looked around, but the little rascal was nowhere to be seen.

Cui Yue rejoiced at his survival, recalling the details with effort. He vaguely remembered a beam of golden light descending, but nothing else.

“This is bad. The water ghost might return for me. I can’t linger here—escaping is more important.”

With this thought, Cui Yue wasted no time, scrambling to his feet and staggering toward the riverbank.

“Oh, heavens, I’m exhausted!”

After struggling for what felt like eternity, Cui Yue climbed onto the riverbank. He dared not stay there, fearing another encounter with the little water ghost. He hurried down from the bank, fleeing along the main road.

Night had deepened. The wind was cold, and Cui Yue, soaked through, kept sneezing and trembling. After walking some distance, he suddenly heard intermittent crying—soft, like a woman’s sad weeping.

This unsettled him even more, for he was already jumpy, and any suspicious sound unnerved him. He stopped, listening, but heard nothing. When he walked on, the crying resumed. This happened twice, raising the hair on his neck and leaving him rattled, unsure whether to walk or stay, or even which direction to run.

He took a few more steps, and this time the cry was clear—a woman’s voice, calling out,

“My child… oh…”

The wind moaned, and Cui Yue peered around, glimpsing a flicker of firelight beneath the riverbank’s corner, where several people knelt and wept.

He couldn’t see clearly at first, so he crept closer, wanting to confirm whether they were living people or ghosts. After a moment of observation, he was sure they were alive and relaxed a little, though his curiosity grew. What were these people doing here, wailing in the dead of night?

He drew near to within ten meters, finally seeing clearly.

A man and two women knelt on the ground. The man’s face was twisted in pain, sighing repeatedly as he tossed paper money into a brazier. An older woman leaned against a tree, apparently faint from her crying. The younger woman wiped her tears, her sobbing never ceasing.

On the sand before them, a blanket lay spread, upon which rested the corpse of a small child, face covered with a white cloth.

Cui Yue realized at last: the family had lost their beloved child. No wonder their grief was so profound. He could not help but feel sympathy.

As he watched, his heart tightened. Suddenly he noticed the corpse lying there—he was shocked. The child wore a blue short-sleeved shirt and black pants.

Wasn’t this the little boy from earlier? No, the little water ghost who had nearly taken his life.

Cui Yue was too stunned for words. The boy must have drowned earlier, which explained why he had become a water ghost.

Such is the love of parents, their hearts shattered by the loss of a child, a pain like flesh and bone being torn away.

The dead are gone. Cui Yue gazed at the boy on the ground, overcome with emotion, recalling how the child had seemed obedient and clever when they first met, adorable in appearance—surely he had been lively and sweet in life. Cui Yue was moved.

He stepped forward, half-squatting beside the brazier, and quietly lit a stick of incense, burning some paper money.

The kneeling family paused their crying, looking at the young man before them in confusion.

Cui Yue offered a gentle, apologetic smile and spoke softly, “I was passing by and heard your cries. I was touched. Your child must have been lively and clever in life, but met a tragic fate. The dead are gone—I wish to bid him farewell.”

The young woman’s sorrow was renewed by his words, and tears streamed down again, her cries heartbreaking. The man’s lips quivered; he nodded gratefully, his face full of emotion.

Cui Yue cast a pile of spirit money into the brazier. The fire’s glow and heat illuminated his hand, warming it in contrast to his cold body.

“Little one, big brother is burning you extra paper money. Be good over there, buy lots of toys, but don’t be mischievous anymore. May you soon find rebirth.”

Unable to bear it, Cui Yue sighed softly.

Suddenly, a figure emerged from beneath a cypress tree, holding up his trousers and humming a tune, as if just returning from relieving himself.

Cui Yue had failed to notice anyone hiding under the tree before, and was startled.

He looked up at the newcomer—a scruffy man with a face covered in stubble, hair like a tangled nest, utterly shabby. His clothes were patched in several places and he wore rubber-soled shoes.

Cui Yue wondered, was this fellow a local vagrant, resting here for the night?