Chapter Sixty-Five: Portents in Dreams

After dinner, I followed the old man Ma to the Ding household. I had assumed that Meng Chengde, given his distinguished status, would have a room to himself. Unexpectedly, he was sharing a cramped space with his driver, while Gu Yangyu had a whole room to himself—and not just any room, but the spacious master bedroom.

Ma and I made our way to Gu Yangyu’s guest room. The door was half ajar, and I could see through the gap that the lighting inside was dim, with the scent of incense and candles wafting out into the corridor.

Without hesitation, the old man Ma pushed open the door and walked in. I followed close behind. The room was set up almost like a ritual chamber—offering incense and red and white candles adorned the space. Was Gu Yangyu about to perform a ritual?

Ma spoke up, “Everything’s almost ready?”

Gu Yangyu, holding a bundle of incense, was placing them at the head of the bed. He didn’t even look up as he answered, “Yes. Once the appointed time arrives, we can begin.”

“I’ll leave this to you, then,” said Ma, turning on his heel and heading out.

Puzzled, I trailed after him. Was that all he’d come for—to glance around the room and say a couple of words?

Once outside, I asked, “Is Mr. Gu about to perform a ritual?”

“In a sense. He’s about to enter a dream to seek an omen. Since he can’t visit the construction site himself, this is his way of learning about the ghostly opera through dreams.”

“What does that mean, to seek an omen in a dream?” I pressed. I’d heard Xiao Qingwan mention it before and had always been curious about Gu Yangyu’s abilities, but hadn’t had the chance to ask.

Ma looked at me—perhaps because I was now his apprentice, he explained, “It’s a method of divination. By entering a dream through particular means, you seek answers and use the dream to predict the outcome of events.”

So that was it. It didn’t sound all that practical.

I asked again, “And what about this ‘Dream Interpretation Sect’?”

“It’s a sect that specializes in dream omens,” Ma said bluntly. “The usefulness of their craft varies, and since they have a rule forbidding the divination of personal affairs, the sect has never grown large. It’s always been rather obscure.”

“Why impose such a rule?” I asked. If their art was meant to predict outcomes, why avoid personal matters?

“That rule came later, and it’s all because of a single person,” Ma said with a sigh, as if recalling something from the past.

By now, we had left the Ding house behind. As we walked, Ma elaborated. When the Dream Interpretation Sect was first established, things were much better than they are now. For one, there was no rule against divining personal matters, and for another, the times were different—people sought out spirits and omens as a matter of course. Otherwise, such a specialized art would never have formed its own sect.

Back in the 1980s, an extraordinary genius appeared in the Dream Interpretation Sect. Usually, the results of dream omens are vague, much like drawing lots at a temple—one can only infer from limited clues, and it’s certainly no easier than guessing riddles. The scope of omens is very limited. But this genius could not only predict the causes and outcomes of events with precision, but also divine a far broader range of matters than anyone else.

In Ma’s words, “He could see a hundred years into the past or the future, from great calamities and disasters to the smallest trivialities—nothing was beyond his sight.” Because of this man, the Dream Interpretation Sect enjoyed a brief period of fame.

At the time, the man was only in his early twenties. Had he continued on that trajectory, he would surely have become a grandmaster of his generation, with boundless prospects ahead. Yet, for helping someone divine a certain matter, he was murdered by that very client, silenced forever. No one knows exactly what he divined—at least, Ma, as an outsider, didn’t know. From then on, the sect established a rule: only divine matters of spirits, calamities, fortune and misfortune—never personal affairs.

Astonished, I asked, “If he was so skilled, didn’t he ever foresee his own fate?”

If he knew he would be murdered, couldn’t he have avoided it?

“Some things are destined, unavoidable. Even if he knew, fate would still draw him in,” Ma said with a sigh, lost in reminiscence.

Given Ma’s age, he likely witnessed these events himself—he might have even known the man.

We returned to the house where we were staying next door. Once in the guest room, Ma took two talisman papers from his backpack and handed them to me. I accepted them uncertainly. These were unlike the talismans I’d seen in movies—much longer, much larger. The colors of the symbols differed, too: one was red, the other black.

“What are these for?” I asked.

“You’ll keep watch at the elementary school tonight—see for yourself what this ghostly opera looks like…”

I cut him off immediately, “I’m not going!”

There are a whole host of ghosts performing that opera! I’m only flesh and blood—not nearly enough for them to share. And besides, there was a murder there today. Who’s to say the dead child won’t join the ghosts, or that the killer isn’t still lurking nearby? Wouldn’t I be in mortal danger alone?

Just remembering the gruesome scene made my scalp crawl. What sort of monster could commit such an atrocity?

Ma looked at me with disapproval. “You’re in the trade now—how can you be so timid? This line of work requires experience and mettle. If you keep refusing, when your year is up, even I won’t be able to help you.”

Damn him—he knew I was trapped by this one-year limit. Who knows if it’s really true that only by facing danger can I make any progress.

Clutching the talismans, I hesitated. “Master, I’ve only just started. You’re sending me alone into a haunted place—what if something happens and I can’t handle it?”

“That’s why I’m giving you two talismans. One is for protection—it will keep evil spirits and dark forces at bay. The other is for subduing—use it to suppress or banish demons and ghosts,” Ma explained. “Besides, I’m not asking you to catch ghosts. All you need to do is observe: find out when the ghostly opera appears and vanishes, what exactly happens, and report back honestly. That’s all.”

“But there was a murder just today. What if I run into the killer?” I protested.

“Enough with your ‘buts.’ You’re a grown man—watch your own back. That’s settled. They say the haunted opera appears only deep in the night. Mind the time. I’m off to rest now—too old to fuss any further.” With that, Ma lay down on his bed and took a snuff gourd from his bag.

That wretched old man! Reluctantly, I went out to borrow a flashlight from our host. “Mind the time,” he’d said—if I had to go, I’d better do it soon. Once it’s truly dark, I won’t dare set foot near that place. Hauntings are one thing, but there’d been a brutal murder at that school just today.

As I walked to the gate with the flashlight, I passed through the living room and saw the host’s young son standing alone in the corner, hands clasped and head bowed, muttering quietly. It looked like he was praying.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

He glanced at me, eyes a bit panicked, lips pressed tight. He turned and hurried into his room. There was something distinctly odd about that child.