Chapter 108: Compassion (2/2)

When I held the monk's severed head and looked at his corpse, I noticed that the seat where the high monk sat was actually a stone slab carved with a dragon. He was sitting cross-legged, facing the wall before him. Yet, when the head fell, I saw on the wall a ghostly image still showing the monk's head intact.

This was a "Shadow Wall" — only those with immense spiritual power could embed their image into stone after death, forming a natural sculpture.

I never dared to look at the monk's face, instead placing his head respectfully before his body and bowing. As I lifted the corpse, a low roar like a dragon's echoed in my ears. My consciousness nearly fainted, but I gritted my teeth and set the head in the center of the stone slab, and only then did the faintness vanish.

Although I succeeded, there was little joy. In today's economic society, whether a transcendent monk or a mountain recluse, many are tainted by greed. Few practitioners truly care for the people anymore. The so-called compassion of self-proclaimed Buddhists often aims only to avoid hell or to improve their own fortune, while many try to ease guilt by invoking Buddha's name — essentially selfish people hiding behind Buddhist pretenses.

I carried down the high monk's body, and as I stepped down from the dais, it began to decay rapidly. Within seven steps, the corpse crumbled to powder, leaving only a relic about the size of a baby's fist.

This was a millennia-old monk's relic. I held it carefully and hastened out of the tunnel, desperately climbing out of the well. The sky was still dark and cloudy from earlier rain, with no sign of clearing. From afar, I could see the mist-shrouded Tower Bay Street, and I desperately wondered how Yuan Beitang was faring — had the evil ghosts harmed anyone?

Surrounded by darkness, no chance to hail a cab — so I ran with the relic in hand. Using my spiritual insight, the north side was thick with yin energy, indicating Yuan Beitang was still fighting the ghosts, while the south seemed safe.

But then a thought struck me — if these malicious spirits torment humans, does the underworld do nothing? These vengeful souls had already entered the netherworld and returned wandering. To hasten the underworld's intervention, I made a bold decision — to fake a heavenly punishment.

Earlier, a truck had run over a stray dog. According to my knowledge of ritual arts, there are two kinds of death for a stray dog: those hit and killed by a vehicle (often return to repay gratitude) and those crushed under a vehicle (considered a sin on the driver). In the latter case, if the driver tosses a few coins outside as money to send the dog off, the restless spirit may find peace. (Pregnant dogs are an exception.)

The crushed dog's corpse lay beneath the truck's wheel. I saw the driver was unconscious but alive due to the seatbelt.

I wrapped the dead dog in my shirt and moved to the roadside, then took out two talisman papers from my bag. Holding a brush between my thumbs, I knelt facing north and loudly chanted:"Clear skies, bright sun and moon, open heaven and earth, six realms of reincarnation, please guide this soul back, by decree! Swiftly!"

Dipping the brush in the dog's blood, I wrote two talismans — one to restrain the soul, the other to summon the yang energy.

My clothes represented yang, the dead dog was yin — using yang to suppress yin, stirring the dog's restless energy. I placed the money as guidance facing north.

As the pungent smell spread, my clothes slowly inflated, and I heard countless ghostly barks. Dozens of ghost dogs poured out, chasing each other down the street. In ancient times, this was a sign of a heavenly punishment.

This method would attract the underworld's attention. If the disaster was caused by vengeful spirits, the underworld's officers couldn't avoid responsibility. These ghost dogs posed no harm to people's bodies — it was just a ruse.

Having done all this, I ran in the opposite direction. Yuan Beitang chased the wandering ghosts, and I trusted he would be back before dawn, or Jiang Shiyu would truly be lost.

I dared not rest, running with all my strength, teeth clenched. I lost track of how long I ran until I finally found a taxi. Without explanation, I told the driver my elder at home was dying soon. Understanding, he drove me swiftly to Jiang Shiyu's home.

When I returned to my apartment building, I saw a scene that chilled my heart deeply...