Chapter 100: The Empty Coffin

Ink lines, yellow beans, five-colored flags—here, there was no altar, no offerings; no one knew what they might face.

Ink lines had been drawn across the coffin in a grid pattern, forming what was called a celestial net, meant to prevent the corpse inside from rising unexpectedly. The five-colored flags—black, white, green-blue, red, and yellow—were derived from the Four Symbols and the Five Elements. To the left stood the Azure Dragon, to the right the White Tiger; the Vermilion Bird faced forward, and the Black Tortoise guarded the rear.

“The Four Spirits and Four Symbols each guard their domain; with the yellow flag in hand, I command yin and yang!” With a deft motion, he planted the yellow flag firmly at his feet, while the other small flags were placed at the coffin’s four cardinal points—east, south, west, and north.

In each corner, a handful of yellow beans was scattered; atop each pile lay a talisman, upon which rested a copper coin. Within the coin’s hole, a single glutinous rice grain smeared with his own blood was placed—one link in a chain, indispensable and complete.

Drawing his sword and affixing the talismans in one fluid motion, he lightly brushed his fingertip along the blade’s surface. The Seven-Star Sword trembled ever so slightly, as if responding.

Raising the sword, Cha Wenbin positioned it vertically before him, then slid it leftward. With a flick of his left hand, sparks flew, touching the blade, and with a sharp hiss, the talisman at the tip ignited.

The sword danced like a blooming flower, footsteps tracing celestial patterns; left then right, sweeping the sword edge across all directions before planting it upright. Chanting clearly, he intoned: “Rivers, sun and moon, mountains, seas, and stars lie within my grasp. I command clarity to shine forth, darkness to recede; the thirty-three celestial deities fall beneath my law—east shall obey east, west shall obey west, south shall obey south, and north shall obey north. Those who pledge allegiance to me shall be honored; those who defy me shall lose their heads!”

With the chant complete, he took three steps forward, stopping at the coffin. With force, he plunged the Seven-Star Sword into the soil before it. A sharp “shhh” sounded, and a plume of pale smoke rose from the earth, as if burning wood had been plunged into water.

Stepping back two paces, he withdrew a talisman from his bosom and pressed it firmly against the plump man’s chest. Quickly, he applied pressure to the man’s temples, reciting: “Spiritual Treasure Venerable One, comfort this body; disciple’s soul and five viscera, penetrate the mysterious darkness; Azure Dragon and White Tiger, array and guard; Vermilion Bird and Black Tortoise, protect my true form. Supreme Elder Lord, by your urgent decree, so command it!” Suddenly, he bit his middle finger, pressing the bloodied tip to the man’s forehead. Before the man could react, Cha Wenbin circled behind him and thrust him forward with a shout: “Guardians, open the coffin!”

The plump man stammered in disbelief: “Open… open the coffin?”

Cha Wenbin’s expression was grave, no trace of humor. His usual stern demeanor shifted, and even the plump man felt as if he scarcely knew him. With a commanding voice, he barked: “Open!”

With a sharp “ka,” the engineer’s shovel pried forcefully at the coffin. The man pressed down with all his might, as if pressing a mountain, and with a loud crack, the coffin lid lifted. The plump man raised his right foot and kicked it fiercely, sending the lid flying several meters back. A strange fragrance immediately wafted forth, utterly free of the usual stench of decay.

The plump man turned and said, “This is strange, so fragrant. Master Cha, there’s another coffin inside—a nested coffin.”

“Wait,” he said, bending over and reaching inside to retrieve a small box about the length of a forearm. His eyes gleamed with delight. “This must be a burial item placed atop the coffin.”

“Put it down!” Cha Wenbin snapped.

The plump man relaxed his grip, and with a sharp “clang,” the small box fell open on the ground. A humble earthenware jar rolled out. It was about the size of a wine bottle, plain in appearance, and it landed right by Cha Wenbin’s foot.

Cha Wenbin stepped on it, stooped down, and examined the mouth of the jar sealed with a mixture of yellow clay and rice husks—giving it the unmistakable air of a wine vessel.

“Good stuff,” the plump man said, rubbing his hands and chuckling.

While pressing a talisman onto the jar, Cha Wenbin remarked, “This is an urn for ashes. If you think it’s so great, you can take it home and cuddle it to sleep. It must be this thing causing the trouble. I just opened my Heavenly Eye and saw you holding something black. If it had been opened, it would have been a serious problem.”

He tossed the sealed jar back to the plump man with one hand. “Seal it tight, take it home and bury it somewhere, then we’ll keep going.”

The plump man responded with a low “oh,” then frowned. The coffin bore no grid of ink lines, so he asked, “Master Cha, can we open it? There’s no celestial net.”

“Yes, even if there were trouble, the net wouldn’t hold it back. One layer of protection is enough; no need to fortify every layer.” Saying that, he walked over and scattered some glutinous rice onto the nested coffin inside. “Hundreds of evils hide beneath the nine earths; all demons lie subdued in the forest; celestial flowers scatter the law’s rain; the law’s drum shakes the layers of confusion; grievances, hatred, and slaughter all disperse. Dust returns to dust, earth returns to earth; break the coffin yet see no daylight—no ghostly acts allowed.”

“That’s it?” the plump man asked.

Casually, Cha Wenbin scooped a handful of glutinous rice from the coffin lid, spread it across his palm, and separated the grains into groups of three. He counted on his fingers and nodded. “Open it. I’ll stand by you. The evil qi isn’t strong; it should be fine.”

The plump man braced his foot against the coffin and pushed the shovel in like opening a beer bottle cap. With a clear “bang,” the coffin lid swung open, revealing yet another coffin inside—just as Cha Wenbin had anticipated.

The inner coffin bore red patterns gilded with gold. To Cha Wenbin, the first impression of the painting was that of a human face motif. Yet the impression flickered and vanished; upon a second look, it appeared merely an ordinary design.

“Master Cha, what’s wrong?” the plump man asked.

“Nothing,” Cha Wenbin replied. “This is the main coffin. Open it.”

“Wait!” Ye Qiu walked over, casting a glance at the coffin. “Can’t we leave it alone?”

The plump man stiffened his neck. “If we don’t open it, why did you come down?”

Ye Qiu said nothing further, silently retreating. Cha Wenbin told the plump man to wait and approached Ye Qiu.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

“No.”

“If there is, say it.”

“Better not open it.”

“Give me a reason.”

“No reason.”

Cha Wenbin said to Ye Qiu, “This time, I won’t follow your intuition. I haven’t moved a single flag. I assure you, this place is safe.”

With a “ka,” the coffin lid was pried open, sending dust puffing into the air. The plump man stared wide-eyed, and the dust blew into his eyes.

Rubbing his eyes, he saw faintly inside the coffin a figure lying there. But after clearing most of the dust and looking again, the coffin was empty—completely bare!

An empty coffin, utterly void of contents.

All that effort, and this was the joke? Just this tiny box? Cha Wenbin could hardly believe his eyes. The plump man searched the coffin thoroughly; it was indeed empty. No one could have predicted such an outcome.

Cha Wenbin slumped to the ground, staring at the flags in the corners, suddenly feeling ridiculous. Was this ritual merely to appease the contents of that small urn?

“There are burial items, yet it’s an empty tomb. Let’s go,” he said, beginning to pack up with a self-mocking tone.

“Making such a fuss for what? What’s the point?” The plump man pointed at the urn in his hands. “I really don’t get why someone wouldn’t sleep inside such a fine coffin but rather in this little urn. Tell me, isn’t that cheap?”

After packing, Cha Wenbin noticed Ye Qiu still standing there in a daze. He approached and reminded him, “Let’s go. What are you still thinking about?”

He spoke quietly, “That coffin isn’t the tomb owner’s.”

Cha Wenbin’s heart skipped. “Whose is it?”

Ye Qiu spoke calmly, as if an elder who had experienced half a century: “It’s prepared for us.”

He continued, “This grave, this coffin, are meant for those who enter. No one lies inside; if no one is inside, how can it be a tomb? Without the occupant, it’s just an empty shell.” Turning aside, he added, “I understand now. You’re a Taoist priest. Tell me, is there such a thing as yin and yang in this world?”

“There is, if you believe.”

“Then tell me, is the place we stand yin or yang?”

“Yang, of course—yang is where the living reside.”

“Then where are we now?”

“An empty tomb,” Cha Wenbin emphasized.

“Who does a tomb house?” Ye Qiu’s question pressed hard against Cha Wenbin’s mind.

“Tombs house the dead. The realm of the dead is naturally yin. But we are living people entering the tomb, so of course we see the living world. Thank you for reminding me.”

With that, he called to the plump man, “Wait, come stand by me as a protector.”

One hundred chapters completed—this is a commemoration. Good night.