As the rain grew heavier, Song Huaiyan held a black oil-paper umbrella and walked swiftly through the downpour. Halfway there, he spotted someone ahead walking slowly with a black umbrella.
“Xiao Ai!” He quickened his pace to catch up.
It wasn’t until Song Huaiyan walked right up to him that Song Aiguo slowly raised his head, wearing a somewhat dazed expression.
“What is it?” Song Huaiyan asked. “Why are you coming back so late?”
“Just now at the cemetery, I ran into Grandpa Xu,” Song Aiguo answered very slowly. “This year, he burned the paper boat with me.”
“Isn’t he sick?” Song Huaiyan frowned. “Didn’t Grandma Zhang accompany him?”
“Grandpa Xu was all alone. He stayed with me until the paper boat burned down to ashes,” Song Aiguo’s eyelashes fluttered, and his eye rims turned somewhat red. “He said this was his first time going to the martyrs’ cemetery, and also his last. He said thank you to me for helping him burn paper boats all these years, and that from now on, he won’t need them anymore.”
“Brother, I feel… kind of sad…” He raised his eyes to look at Song Huaiyan, tears streaming down his face in a sudden gush.
He sluggishly touched the water droplets on his face, his expression a mix of sorrow and incomprehension.
“Brother, why am I crying?”
Reaching out, Song Huaiyan used his thumb to wipe away the boy’s tears and said gently, “Xiao Ai, your Grandpa Xu has come to say goodbye to you.”
Given the situation just now, Xiao Ai must have fallen into a dream- (phantom illusion) cast by Xu Lin.
Xu Lin was one of the older long-term residents on this street. Over the years, the majority of households on the old street had moved away, leaving more than a dozen houses connected to the Hall of Affairs completely empty, with Xu Lin’s family being the closest neighbor.
He was a veteran of the War of Resistance Against Japanese Aggression and a survivor of the Luokou Battle back then.
In March 1945, in order to capture the Luokou airfield, the Japanese army launched an offensive against Luokou. During the fierce battle between the two forces, the Sichuan army desperately defended Luokou for thirteen days, repeatedly beating back the Japanese troops. Both sides suffered heavy casualties, with over 1,600 Sichuan soldiers sacrificing their lives. In the end, under the wild bombardment of Japanese heavy artillery, the defending garrison had no choice but to abandon Luokou city, fighting while retreating in stages to evacuate and cross the Han River westward.
After withdrawing from the Luokou urban area, the Sichuan army still stood in a stalemate with the Japanese army on both sides of the Han River, engaging in cross-river artillery duels until Japan announced its unconditional surrender on August 15.
Xu Lin had been a young soldier of sixteen at the time. During the process of crossing the Han River westward during the Luokou Battle, their boat was blown up by artillery fire. He fell into the river and was rescued by downstream farmers, surviving miraculously despite taking three bullets. Later, following the founding of the New China, he wandered his way to the Jiangsu and Zhejiang regions, settling down in the small town of Changning, and had now reached the advanced age of ninety-four.
Very few people knew of his exploits during the War of Resistance. Because he custom-ordered paper boats at the Hall of Affairs every Qingming Festival to pay tribute at the martyrs’ cemetery, Song Huaiyan had learned a bit of the past from his wife, Zhang Yue.
When Song Aiguo was six years old, he went to deliver paper boats alongside Song Huaiyan and burst into uncontrollable tears upon seeing Xu Lin. Believing that Xu Lin carried heavy malevolent energy that had startled the little toddler, Zhang Yue felt deeply apologetic and came over to visit several times in succession. Later on, Song Aiguo often frequented Xu Lin’s home to play. Having no children of their own, the Xu couple treated Song Aiguo with immense care, cherishing him just like their own biological grandson.
Given that Xu Lin had been gravely ill of late, it stood to reason that his lifespan was drawing to its close.
Bringing Xiao Ai with him, Song Huaiyan hurried back to the Hall of Affairs, only to find the front doors wide open. Inside the courtyard, Xu Lin sat facing someone across the stone table.
“Grandpa Xu!” Song Aiguo dashed in eagerly. “Why are you here?”
With hair completely snow-white, Xu Lin was dressed in a grey Zhongshan suit and leaning on a wooden cane. He turned his head, but instead of replying to Song Aiguo, he looked directly at Song Huaiyan.
“So, you are the master of this Hall of Affairs.”
Walking into the courtyard, Song Huaiyan stopped a few paces away from him and simply said, “You shouldn’t have come here.”
“Oh? Then where should I go?” Xu Lin asked calmly.
Looking back and forth between Xu Lin and Song Huaiyan, and finally turning to Shen Yu, Song Aiguo looked thoroughly bewildered: “What are you guys talking about?”
“Xiao Ai, go inside the house first,” Song Huaiyan said in a peaceful yet stern tone.
“I won’t, I’m not a kid anymore.” Song Aiguo turned to glare at Xu Lin. “What’s wrong with Grandpa Xu?”
“Junior brother, what did he say to you?” Song Huaiyan asked Shen Yu.
“He said he shouldn’t have come here,” Shen Yu, who had been sitting opposite Xu Lin the entire time, stood up. “He asked me why I am here.”
“You…” Song Huaiyan hesitated for a moment. “Are you alright?”
Shaking his head, Shen Yu walked over to his side with his usual composure: “He’s already dead?”
Casting a glance at Song Aiguo, Song Huaiyan nodded slightly and murmured to Shen Yu, “Something’s not quite right with him.”
Xu Lin slowly stood up, facing the two of them with both hands resting atop his cane, a peaceful smile on his aged face.
“He shouldn’t be here, and neither should I, isn’t that right?”
Instantly on guard, Song Huaiyan imperceptibly took a step forward, blocking Shen Yu behind him.
Xu Lin’s soul differed from Zhao Bin’s earlier; his state resembled his living self, appearing lucid in mind and composed in response, yet seemingly harboring an underlying, quiet sense of madness.
“Xu Lin,” Song Huaiyan looked at him with a solemn expression, “This life is finished; it’s time to enter the cycle of reincarnation.”
“Reincarnation?” Xu Lin laughed, wrinkles trembling across his aged face. “No, I should be condemned to eternal night, never to enter reincarnation, never to attain salvation.”
Standing right there, billowing black mist abruptly surfaced all around his body, wrapping tightly around the greater part of his frame in a fraction of a second.
Having prepared in advance, Song Huaiyan already held a yellow paper talisman pinched between his fingertips, leveling it across his chest.
“Brother! No!” Seeing his movement, Song Aiguo suddenly yelled out and rushed blindly in front of Xu Lin, spreading both arms wide in an attempt to block something.
Yet the moment he stepped across the edge of that black Qi, his figure was instantly swallowed whole.
“Xiao Ai!” As Song Huaiyan unleashed the yellow talisman, it flew straight toward Xu Lin, but Song Aiguo’s figure had already vanished.
Beneath the very ground where he and Shen Yu stood, the dark Qi eroded the earth in an instant, plunging the surroundings into pitch darkness.
The moment he was enveloped by darkness, a wave of terror and an inexplicable sense of familiarity welled up in Song Aiguo’s heart, though it was quickly drowned out by an overwhelming, suffocating pressure and bone-chilling cold.
Feeling his body sinking downward, he thrashed his limbs in a desperate struggle to swim upward, finally breaking through the submerged pressure and gasping in huge gulps of air.
Attempting to turn his head to look around, he discovered to his shock that he was right in the middle of a churning, violent river!
“Brother…” he called out instinctively, freezing river water choking into his throat. Choking and struggling, the air he inhaled through his nose was mixed with a heavy, pungent stench of gunpowder smoke, while the water and smoke irritated his eyes until they burned.
Fortunately, his swimming skills were decent, and he quickly stabilized his position.
Spitting out a mouthful of river water and wiping his eyes, he noticed a fishy, sweet taste in his mouth. Looking closely, plumes of red were drifting apart across the river water.
This was… blood!
His stomach churned, provoking waves of nausea.
A sudden flash of light broke out before his eyes, and a deafening explosion blasted right beside his ears. Feeling the world turn upside down and the river reverse its flow, when he finally struggled back to the surface of the water, he found the smell of gunpowder and blood even more intense, with numerous dark objects floating toward his side.
Upon closer inspection, they appeared to be shattered pieces of wood and… severed limbs!
Only then did Song Aiguo realize that a boat must have just been blown up by an explosion!
Frantically kicking his limbs to paddle away from the area, he found fragments and remains scattered everywhere both from boats and human bodies.
Water had entered his ears, and the previous explosion had ruptured his eardrums, leaving nothing behind but an unceasing, buzzing hum.
“Brother… Brother, where are you…” he shouted repeatedly in his heart, scalding tears blending into the freezing water. The strength and warmth draining rapidly from his body made him feel as heavy as iron, pulling him downward in a rapid descent.
Keeping his eyes stubbornly open, he then saw another figure in the water sinking downward right alongside him.
That person still possessed an intact body, but several bloody holes pierced through his torso, bubbling outward with red mist.
Xu Lin’s face flashed suddenly across his mind.
He remembered asking Grandpa Xu why he insisted on burning paper boats during Qingming.
Xu Lin had said that the vast majority of his comrades had died in that tragic, brutal battle.
He was part of the very last wave of retreating troops crossing the river when their small boat was struck by enemy fire, leaving neither bodies nor bones behind for either men or vessel.
They died in the dusk of March 1945, perishing right before the dawn.
Perhaps he was the only one who had managed to survive.
“Grandpa Xu…”
Reaching out a hand, Song Aiguo made a feeble grab toward that similarly sinking figure before slowly closing his eyes.
…Xiao Ai! Xiao Ai!
Hearing a familiar voice filtering bit by bit into his ears, he struggled with his eyelids for a long time before managing to crack open a thin slit.
“Brother…” His voice was hoarse; the moment he opened his mouth, he burst into a fit of violent coughing, acting as though he had genuinely just been hauled out of the water.
Withdrawing the hand he had pressed against the boy’s glabella, Song Huaiyan gently patted his face, looking as though a heavy burden had finally lifted off his shoulders.
“Brother… what happened to me?” Shaking his head as lingering dizziness clouded his vision, he saw Shen Yu standing off to the side, while Xu Lin sat upon the stone stool leaning on his cane, eyes closed with a yellow talisman pasted against his body.
“Grandpa Xu…” He instinctively grabbed Song Huaiyan’s sleeve. “What’s wrong with Grandpa Xu? I saw him… saw his past… It felt like a dream, but it was way more real than any dream!”
“The Xu family is already setting up the mourning hall. What you saw was a dream state generated by Xu Lin’s soul, called a phantom illusion.” Patting his hand, Song Huaiyan turned his gaze to Xu Lin. “To generate so many illusions in such a short time after death proves that his obsession ran deep and plagued him throughout his living days.”
“Grandpa Xu… is really dead…” Staring blankly at the soul sitting quietly before him as though nothing had happened, Song Aiguo still found it hard to believe. “Was it because of his obsession that he refused to leave…”
Feeling his head somewhat jumbled, Song Aiguo took a few deep breaths, then slowly picked himself up from the ground, crossed his legs into a sitting position, and began sorting out his chaotic thoughts bit by bit.
“Brother, can you tell me what’s going on?” Looking up at Song Huaiyan, twin pools of water shimmered within his drooping puppy-dog eyes.
Patting his head with a sigh, Song Huaiyan asked, “What did you remember?”
“I remembered some things, but they’re still all blurry,” Song Aiguo shook his head. “So it turns out the dead really do possess spirits. I’ve been able to see these things since I was little, and I’ve even entered scenarios similar to what happened today…”
“Was it you who made me forget all of this, Brother? It seems like I don’t have much recollection of anything before I turned six,” Song Aiguo blinked his eyes, dropping his gaze.
“You were still far too small back then…” Song Huaiyan’s expression was soft yet helpless. “You would have been terrified, distressed, and unable to face it. You shouldn’t have had to experience these things from childhood; I hoped you could grow up carefree just like any ordinary child.”
Lowering his head in silence for a moment, Song Aiguo looked back up and curved his eyes into a forced, smiling expression: “I have grown up carefree, Brother. Thank you for protecting me all this time; now I can make my own choices.”
Taken slightly aback, Song Huaiyan said, “Since you’re prepared to accept all of this, then come with me.”
Turning around, he walked toward the inner hall, and Xu Lin followed right behind him like a wooden puppet. Scrambling agilely to his feet and dusting the dirt off his clothes, Song Aiguo hurried to catch up, while Shen Yu followed wordlessly into the inner hall as well.
Just like during the incident with Zhao Bin, Song Huaiyan lit a white soul-guiding incense stick and extended his left hand. As the copper coins jingled and chimed, with a single crisp ring, the surrounding space turned an absolute blinding white. When it finally dispersed, the three of them stood transplanted within an entirely different world.