Chapter Sixty-Four: The Inn of the Dead

My master glanced at me and said, “I was only using one hand against him.”
I looked at my master, surprised. So that means he could easily outmatch that man by a wide margin. I couldn’t help but ask, “Then why did you say Lord Lu is a formidable character?”
“Because he possesses countless strange and powerful objects. It’s said that his greatest strength isn’t his skill with Gu, but sorcery—possibly the ancient witchcraft passed down from the Jiuli tribe.”
“Oh?” I drew out the syllable, then asked, “Is there a difference between Gu and sorcery? Is sorcery what you mentioned before, about the ancient shamans?”
My master nodded. “There is a difference. Don’t let the similar names fool you—there’s a world of distinction between them. Most people only know of Gu as involving poisonous insects and toxins, but sorcery is different. Although sorcery is ranked alongside Gu, it’s far more difficult to master, with many more methods. That’s why people often equate Gu with sorcery, thinking one is just another name for the other, which is how the term ‘witch-Gu’ came to be.”
I nodded, committing his words to memory, feeling as though I’d learned another lesson. Master continued, “Come on. If this really is Lord Lu’s man, we should pay a proper visit to the ancient Miao stronghold.”
With that, my master strode ahead, and we continued making our way through the dense, difficult forest. The weather, which had been fair, gradually darkened as we walked, as if rain was coming. Master glanced up at the sky and said, “The weather’s turning. Let’s find some shelter and think about our next move.”
I agreed and quickened my pace through the undergrowth. The farther we went, the darker the sky became, until suddenly a raindrop landed on my cheek. I touched it and said, “Master, it’s starting to rain.”
He nodded, and we pressed on. Before long, the rain came down in earnest, drumming on the leaves with a crisp, lively sound. The forest became even harder to traverse. Looking ahead, I suddenly spotted a house not far away. I pointed and shouted, “Master! There’s a house up there!”
Squinting, my master shielded his face with his hand and replied, “Quick, let’s take shelter there.”
I nodded, and we ran for it. Once under the eaves at the front door, I brushed the rain from my clothes and hair. Master stood with hands on his hips, panting, “When it rains, it pours—what timing.”
I stood off to the side, shaking the water off, and didn’t answer. Then master glanced behind me, suddenly surprised. He clapped my shoulder, and when I turned, puzzled, I saw him pointing to the sign above the door. “Kid, we’ve trespassed on someone’s property.”
I grew even more confused and followed his gaze. The sign’s four characters were blurred, but as I squinted, I could just make them out: “The Inn of the Dead.”
Startled, I turned to master. “The Inn of the Dead?”
He nodded.
I asked, “Master, what is the Inn of the Dead?”
He looked at the half-open door and said, “As the name suggests, it’s for the dead to stay in. But it’s not the same as a mortuary, which is just for storing corpses. An Inn of the Dead is meant for the dead to ‘stay’ in.”
He looked at me and added, “You must be wondering how the dead could possibly need a place to stay, right?”
I froze. He’d guessed my thoughts exactly, and I chuckled sheepishly.
Master continued, “To be precise, the Inn of the Dead is for corpse handlers to rest in. In other words, it’s a resting place for the dead on their journey. We’ve wandered in by accident—who knows if there’s a handler stopping here.”
A corpse handler—that’s what they call those who move corpses. I noticed the couplet on either side of the door:
“The souls of the dead return to rest in this house,
The living who stray find themselves lost among glass flowers.”

I stared at the couplet, puzzled, and asked, “Master, what are glass flowers?”
He glanced at it and answered, “That’s corpse handler jargon. ‘Glass flower’ means a glass lantern. Usually, anyone who comes here is either in the trade or an ordinary person. If there are corpse handlers inside, a glass lantern will be placed just inside the door, filled with incense ash and several sticks of incense. If someone in the trade arrives, they’ll pull out one stick and place it on the table as a sign to the handlers that they are kin, not outsiders. Alternatively, two white lanterns will hang by the door. Before entering, one must extinguish one lantern: first, to warn the spirits inside that a living person is entering, so they should avoid him; second, to inform the handlers that a fellow tradesman requests shelter.”
I nodded, staring into the dim entryway. Master swatted my head and said, “What are you gawking at? Come on, let’s pay our respects to whoever’s inside.”
I hesitated. “Didn’t you say you didn’t know if anyone was inside? Why do you want to visit now?”
He smiled faintly. “Because… I can sense it.”
With that, he stepped into the Inn of the Dead. I followed, and as soon as we entered, a gust of wind blew, making the two white lanterns at the door sway. Startled, I realized they were actually there.
Braving the pouring rain, we ran into the courtyard to the porter’s lodge. Master pointed to one of the lanterns, then clasped his hands and called out, “Honored guest, may we take shelter here for a while?”
After a moment’s silence, master frowned and repeated his request. This time, a gloomy voice replied from within, “I welcome a fellow traveler, but have you forgotten the rules, or is there another reason?”
Master was taken aback but replied, “The heaven lantern is already lit—no need to light it again. If you insist, misfortune will follow. Friend, surely you know the saying ‘thrice is enough’?”
With those words, the door slowly opened inward. Master smiled, and we entered. Inside, it was dim. A single white candle flickered on the table, and sitting beside it was a corpse handler in a blue robe and straw hat. My master straightened and addressed him, “Friend, in these dark and bright hours, why not burn some bamboo for warmth?”
The corpse handler smiled. “For many reasons, which I’m not at liberty to share. If you’re cold, you’re welcome to light some bamboo yourself.”
Master nodded, grabbed a bundle of firewood, and tossed it into the center of the room. I arranged the wood, and with a snap of his fingers, master set it alight with a burst of flame. I saw the handler’s eyes flicker with surprise before he quickly masked it.
The three of us sat together. I heard master ask, “Friend, whose corpses are you guiding, and where to?”
The handler smiled faintly, head lowered. “Taking the righteous path, to Mount Ling.”
Master nodded. “The road to Mount Ling is treacherous, and doesn’t pass through here. Why have you stopped in this place?”
He smiled again, “We walk the shadowed path, tread the road of the dead, and deliver the departed. Why not take a few extra turns, so their descendants may have a brighter future?”
His expression remained unchanged as he spoke.
I sat by, listening to their conversation as if through clouds and mist. Then master said, “You guide the dead, but in truth, you bring blessings. I am impressed!”
The handler nodded in response but kept his face hidden under the brim of his hat. Master returned the gesture and asked, “May I ask you something?”

“Go ahead,” the corpse handler replied, staring into the flames.
Master nodded and continued, “How long have you been staying here?”
The handler raised five fingers. Master was surprised. “Why stay so long—five days?”
The handler smiled. “I calculated that the coming nights bring many full moons, and today’s rain is heavy. One of the souls is restless, so to prevent mishaps, I stayed longer. Why do you ask?”
Master quickly asked, “Have you seen a hunchbacked woman in a gray robe pass by here, or linger nearby in the last few days?”
Finally, the conversation reached its true purpose. The handler froze, then leaned in, fixing master with his gaze. For the first time, I saw his face: strangely shaped, with a long scar that made my heart shudder. Master showed no fear and met his gaze. The corpse handler’s voice turned cold. “A hunchbacked woman in a gray robe?”
My master nodded. The handler sat up, looking at the fire. “I did see someone like that, but I can’t be sure if she’s the one you mean.”
Master pressed, “Do you know where she went? You must know who she is.”
The handler looked up at master. “Just a little witch.”
“Do you know where she went, or where she’s from?” master asked.
The handler let out a cold laugh. “Of course I know. But why should I tell you?”
Master’s expression darkened. “She has harmed others. Isn’t that reason enough?”
The handler looked at my master three times, and they stared each other down for a long moment before he finally said, “The ancient Miao stronghold—Gefang.”
Master frowned, murmuring, “So she really is from the ancient Miao stronghold.”
He turned to the handler again. “Gefang—is that her name?”
The handler nodded without speaking. Master sighed deeply and gazed out at the torrential rain, deep in thought.
After a while, the corpse handler said, “This woman is not someone you can afford to cross. Take my advice and let her be.”