Chapter 5: The Price of Lost Souls

Minding the shop seemed simple enough, but curiosity got the better of me. "Where exactly are you going?" I ventured to ask.

Third Uncle held up the glass bottle, its dark contents swirling ominously. "In our profession," he said gravely, "we must complete what we begin. Xiao Yan'er died with too much bitterness in her heart. Her grievances must be properly laid to rest."

"Tell me then, scholar," Third Uncle's voice held a testing edge, "according to those books you've studied, how should such dark essence be cleansed?"

The answer came to me naturally, years of reading flowing through my mind: "Traditionally, there are two paths. The gentler way is to place it in a temple or Taoist monastery, where the daily chanting of sutras gradually purifies the spirit until the resentment dissolves naturally. For more urgent cases, there's the ritual of the Thirty-Six Yang Fires - it burns away the darkness completely, though..." I hesitated, "such a violent cleansing would deny Xiao Yan'er any chance of peaceful rest in the afterlife."

"Precisely," Third Uncle nodded with approval. "Which is why I must journey to Mount Wutai, to entrust this vessel to the Buddhist masters there. It will take me several days."

"But Mount Wutai is only a few hours away by car," I blurted out, my naive honesty getting the better of me. "Why would you need several..."

Third Uncle's warm expression instantly hardened into a stern mask. "Listen well, boy - someone new to our world needs to learn discretion. When your Third Uncle says something takes several days, then it takes several days! Your grandfather placed you in my care, and part of my duty is to teach you proper conduct. You're still green behind the ears, and you'd do well to learn when to hold your tongue!"

Still muttering under his breath, he tossed me a ring of keys. "There's a bed in the back room," he said. "Make it livable."

Then came his rapid-fire instructions: "Money's in the drawer if you need it - but mind you spend it wisely. Young eyes are easily dazzled by wealth." He jabbed a finger at me for emphasis. "And remember my rules! Anyone asking for funeral wreaths or burial clothes - turn them away. Anyone seeking our other services - refuse them flat out. And most importantly," his voice dropped to a meaningful whisper, "don't forget to light the soul-breaking lamp each night. And don't you dare tell me you don't know what that is!"

With a final grunt, Third Uncle turned away, gesturing to the grey-bearded elder - Old Zhou, apparently - and jerking his thumb in my direction, silently delegating the task of my transport.

I stood watching as the villagers worked together to lower Xiao Yan'er's body with solemn care. Then came the gasoline, splashing dark patterns across the ancient willow. When they put flame to wood, the tree went up like tinder, decades of dark history disappearing into ash.

I knew better than to think this was truly the end. By next spring, new life would stir in those charred remains. The dark energies ran too deep in this soil, and the ancient roots remained untouched beneath the earth, waiting.

But at least it would take years, perhaps decades, before any new growth could achieve the malevolent power of its predecessor.

The villagers arrived with a wheelbarrow, draping Xiao Yan'er's remains in white cloth with careful reverence before preparing for the descent. The grey-bearded Old Zhou approached me with practiced courtesy. "Young master, shall I escort you back now?"

I turned around, only to find Third Uncle had already vanished like morning mist. Inwardly, I couldn't help but curse - the crafty old fox had probably been planning this all along, eager to saddle someone with shop-sitting duties while he went off on his "several days" of freedom.

"Much appreciated, Uncle Zhou," I replied with appropriate politeness.

What a day it had been, I reflected - my morning had started in my childhood bedroom, and by afternoon I was helping subdue a corpse on the verge of supernatural transformation. Talk about career advancement.

For most people, such an encounter would have meant sleepless nights and haunted dreams. But years spent poring over grandfather's arcane library had left me remarkably unfazed by the supernatural.

In fact, Xiao Yan'er's half-transformation was hardly worth mentioning. I'd read about far worse - and at this point, if a full-fledged hopping vampire came bouncing down the street, I'd probably just give it a polite nod and ask about its day.

Darkness had settled over the city by the time I returned to the shop. My first order of business, after unlocking the door, was to check my backpack - finding my thirty thousand yuan still safely tucked away brought a wave of relief. At least some things were going according to plan.

With that worry laid to rest, I turned my attention to more practical matters, arming myself with a mop and cleaning cloths to tackle my new living quarters.

The back room wasn't half bad - it was surprisingly clean. A quick mop of the floor, a thorough wipe-down of the bed and table, and the addition of a fresh blanket transformed the space into a cozy retreat. My first real home away from home.

Night had crept deep into its domain by the time I finished settling in. Then I remembered - the soul-breaking lamp. I sprang up to hunt for the switch, flicking it several times before success: a red glow bloomed beneath the eaves outside, casting crimson shadows against the darkness.

Grandfather's texts had explained it well: the soul-breaking lamp served as a supernatural 'Do Not Disturb' sign. Just as living visitors know not to knock when they see a darkened house, spirits and wandering ghosts understand that a burning soul-breaking lamp means this threshold is closed to them.

These days, such practices have largely faded into folklore - most people would walk right past a soul-breaking lamp without knowing its significance. If I hadn't spent those years buried in grandfather's ancient texts, I'd be just as ignorant.

With the supernatural ward in place, I secured all the locks and retired to my room for the night.

The irony wasn't lost on me - eighteen years of life, and I'd never even experienced the typical teenage rite of passage of sleeping in a school dormitory. Instead, my first night away from home would be spent in a shop that specialized in outfitting the dead. Not exactly what I'd imagined for my first taste of independence.

Fortunately, I've always been blessed with the ability to sleep anywhere, and the day's supernatural adventures had left me exhausted. I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, waking naturally around six the next morning, my body still running on its familiar schedule.

Then reality hit me - I wasn't home anymore. No more early morning study sessions, no more endless lists of English vocabulary to memorize. The realization brought an unexpected pang of loss.

A wave of melancholy washed over me - failing to get into university felt like a dream shattered, the kind of regret that could haunt a lifetime. Would there even be a chance to try again next year? The uncertainty weighed heavily.

But good habits die hard, and wallowing wouldn't change anything. Since sleep was no longer an option, I might as well make myself useful. The shop wouldn't clean itself, after all.

As I worked, I found myself doing some mental calculations. Third Uncle hadn't mentioned payment, but surely watching his shop was worth at least three thousand yuan a month? It seemed reasonable enough.

My financial musings were interrupted the moment I raised the shutters. There, as if he'd been lying in wait, stood a portly man in an expensive suit, his face splitting into an eager smile. "Young sir, young sir!" he gushed, practically bouncing on his feet. "Is Master He available?"

I only knew my sudden "Third Uncle" by his surname He - I didn't even know his full name yet. But Third Uncle's warning rang clear in my mind, so I responded with practiced politeness: "I'm sorry, Third Uncle is away. The shop won't be conducting any business for the next few days."

The fat man somehow managed to squeeze his bulk through the doorway, his face a mask of calculated flattery. "Ah, Master He's nephew! No wonder - such bearing, such talent!" His voice dripped honey. "You see, we have a rather delicate situation at home that requires Master He's expertise. We understand how these things work, of course. Perhaps this small token of appreciation..."

As he spoke, he produced two thick bundles of hundred-yuan notes from his briefcase, the bills so fresh they still bore the bank's validation stamps.

My eyes widened despite myself - my impromptu "Third Uncle" was clearly doing better than I'd imagined in the provincial capital. Here was a casual customer ready to hand over twenty thousand yuan - nearly three thousand dollars - without batting an eye!

But I held firm to Third Uncle's instructions, refusing even to touch the money. My response was polite but absolute: Third Uncle was away, I couldn't make decisions, and rules were rules.

The fat man's ingratiating smile wilted like a flower in frost. Tucking away his failed bribe, he backed toward the door with desperate courtesy. At the last moment, he thrust a business card into my hands, pleading that I must - absolutely must - call him when Third Uncle returned.

His visit, it seemed, had opened the floodgates. The rest of the morning brought an endless parade of visitors. Some arrived in luxury cars, attempting to press red envelopes stuffed with small fortunes into my hands. All of them had the same urgent request: contact Third Uncle.

Others came bearing gifts of more refined taste - precious antiques and masterful paintings, offered as casually as if they were everyday trinkets.

But most haunting were the young couple who came last - they couldn't have been more than a few years my senior, yet a dark shadow hung over them like a shroud. The kind of shadow that comes from carrying the weight of a taken life.

In our world, you see, even an abortion carries spiritual consequences. A life debt is a life debt, no matter how small that life might have been.