That same night, Shen Xian took Liu San and Wangcai out to the Black‑Water River outside town.
Old Turtle‑Uncle, the fisherman who had reported “lights glowing on the river‑bed”, guided them.
The old man was over sixty, and still trembled recalling that night.
“Strings of green lights drifted along the river‑bed, just like eyes!
I have fished forty years, and I have never seen anything like that.”
“Old Turtle‑Uncle, did you hear any strange noises just before the water turned black?”
“Aye!” The old man slapped his thigh.
“Up‑river, gurgle‑gurgle‑gurgle, like dumplings being tossed into boiling water!
I thought the fish‑pond had overflowed.
Next morning the fish were all fine — only the river had turned black for the time it takes to burn one incense‑stick.”
Shen Xian nodded, squatted on the river‑bank and studied the water by moonlight.
The surface lay calm, moonlight shattered across ripples.
He walked upstream for about one li and stopped at an eddy pool.
He lit a tinder‑torch and leaned over the water.
“Master Shen, what are you looking for?” Wangcai crowded close.
“Look at the river‑bottom.” Shen Xian pointed beneath the surface.
Dark bulky shapes rested in the shallow eddy, their outlines dimly visible in the moonlight: cylindrical objects as long as a man’s arm.
“Liu San,” Shen Xian glanced back.
“Can you swim well?” You are reading on g.com, the official source.
Liu San’s face drained of colour.
“Young Master, I cannot swim a stroke…”
“Then you, Wangcai?”
“I‑I can only dog‑paddle…”
“Very well.” Shen Xian rolled up his sleeves.
“Sometimes the leader has to get his hands dirty.”
He stripped off his outer robe and waded in.
The eddy was waist‑deep.
He dived down, groped around, and surfaced holding a bamboo tube sealed with wax at both ends, drilled with a row of tiny holes.
He pried it open.
Inside was a grey‑green powder soaked in grease, which glowed faintly when brought near the torch‑light.
“Glow‑moss powder.” Old Turtle‑Uncle leaned in for a look.
“Moss that grows in damp mountain gullies!
Fishermen use it to lure fish at night!”
“Sealed with wax and sunk to the river‑bottom.
Light seeps out through the drilled holes.” Shen Xian shook the bamboo tube.
“Strings of these drifting downstream at night — of course they look like pairs of glowing eyes.”
He walked another half‑li upstream and squatted at a shallow sandbar.
He pinched some and sniffed: a mix of ink soot and tung‑oil.
“The black water came from dumping ink mixed with tung‑oil upstream.
The oil floated on top and blotted out the moonlight.
After one incense‑stick’s time the oil dispersed and the water cleared again.” Shen Xian clapped his hands clean.
“The ‘dumpling‑tossing noise’ Old Turtle‑Uncle heard was the moment they poured the ink.”
Liu San clutched the bamboo‑tube, lost for words.
“All of this… was staged by humans?”
“Every last bit of it.” Shen Xian handed the tube to Wangcai for safekeeping.
“Three‑piece set for faking hauntings: poison chickens, dig demon‑holes, plant glowing river‑tubes.
The tricks are not brilliant, but the whole script is complete.
The chicken‑coop proves ‘a demon came ashore’, the Black‑Water River proves ‘the demon manifested’.
By tomorrow morning, someone will probably claim to have ‘seen a ghost’.”
“What next?”
“Pack up and go home to sleep.” Shen Xian pulled his outer robe back on and shivered.
“Tomorrow we will let the mastermind behind this three‑piece set bring out his fourth prop by himself.”
“What fourth prop?”
“Perform a grand ritual to catch and banish the demon and save the common folk.” Shen Xian turned and walked away without looking back.
“We will simply sit and watch the play.
Someone else will pay for our tickets.”