Chapter Sixty-Three: Qiu Fu

Impermanence, an underworld official serving under King Yama, typically handled straightforward tasks—only the likes of Five Candles, Granny Meng, and Black and White ranked among the high and mighty. But just who was this Impermanence? Zhang Qinglin was eager to find out. He rose, noting that Wu Cheng'an remained motionless, and quietly made his way to the doorway.

Peering through the crack, he saw nothing resembling the Impermanence of lore. Instead, there stood a wild-haired figure with a long, rectangular face, its features almost twisted together in a grotesque knot—one might well call him Horse-face. His clothes were filthy and disheveled, and from his shoulder hung a broad axe.

His presence alone seemed to command obedience, as he sternly pointed at Uncle Wang, who sat by the table.

Uncle Wang rolled a delicate white flower between his fingers, glanced up, and sneered, “Last time? When was that, anyway? Old as I am, I can’t quite recall…”

He continued, “And besides, what I kept for you—since you took so long to come—has already been dealt with. Where am I supposed to find more for you now?”

Impermanence twisted his axe in his hands, his dark eyes sweeping the room until they settled on the chamber where Zhang Qinglin was hiding. Then, glaring straight at Uncle Wang, he bellowed furiously, “You sly ghost doctor, you’re quite the cunning one! You’ve hidden someone in your house and won’t hand them over to me. What’s the meaning of this?”

“Whether I’m hiding someone or not is none of your concern. They weren’t kept for you, and you’re not to lay a hand on anyone inside,” Uncle Wang replied calmly.

Impermanence hefted his axe and, turning toward the door to the right, shouted, “Who says I can’t? I am Qiu Axe Impermanence! Am I to be cowed by a mere living physician-turned-ghost messenger?”

Zhang Qinglin pressed himself against the door crack, watching as Impermanence raised his axe and prepared to burst in. Alarmed, Zhang Qinglin retreated quickly.

After a moment, there was no sound of the door opening, nor did Impermanence enter. Puzzled, Zhang Qinglin edged back to the crack, just in time to hear a sharp crash—the sound of something shattering on the floor. Looking again, he saw Qingqing, petite and graceful in her bright floral blouse, standing before the door with arms outstretched.

Impermanence’s axe was raised midair. Directly below it, the shattered remnants of a porcelain wine bottle lay scattered, liquor pooling around, filling the air with a rich, aged aroma. Impermanence had knocked over the old wine jar Uncle Wang had left on the cupboard by the door.

“Stop!” Uncle Wang shouted, seeing Impermanence almost graze his daughter’s head with the axe and topple his sixty-year-old vintage wine. He slammed the white flower onto the table and sprang to his feet.

The commotion roused Wu Cheng'an from his sleep. He struggled up, wincing from the pain of his wounds, and staggered to Zhang Qinglin’s side. He was about to speak when Zhang Qinglin hastily signaled him to remain silent. Together, they stared anxiously out the door.

“Ghost girl, what are you doing? Get out of the way!” Impermanence roared, his face contorted in rage.

Qingqing glared up at the towering figure before her, cheeks puffed out defiantly. “What do you think you’re doing? This is my home! You can’t just barge into someone’s house—you should be the one to leave!”

Impermanence’s temper flared. He brandished his axe at her and growled, “Ghost doctor, you’ve taught your ghost girl well—sharp-tongued as ever! Go, go, I won’t stoop to her level!” With that, he used his axe to push Qingqing aside.

She struggled to resist, but her small frame was no match. Fuming, she watched Impermanence stride up to the door and split it open with a single blow.

Zhang Qinglin and Wu Cheng'an darted aside as the door splintered, cracks snaking through the floorboards. They hadn’t expected the axe to wield such formidable power.

Uncle Wang approached, frowning and shouting, “Qiu Axe Impermanence! What do you take my house for, coming and going as you please? And now you turn on me—are you planning to raze this place to the ground?”

“And if I do, you’ve only yourself to blame. No matter—just hand over these two and I’ll be on my way…”

Qingqing hurried to her father’s side. “Dad, I’ll fetch help.” With a blink, she turned and ran off.

Impermanence didn’t even glance at Uncle Wang; he strode into the room, axe raised, heading straight for Zhang Qinglin.

Zhang Qinglin watched the axe arc toward him, thinking that if it landed, he’d be cleaved in two. He clenched his fists, ready to fight back.

At that moment, Wu Cheng'an, eyes sharp, lashed out with a kick at Impermanence’s arm, but it was like kicking iron—Impermanence didn’t budge.

Seeing things go awry, Uncle Wang rifled through a nearby cabinet filled with neat rows of porcelain bottles—his medicine stores.

He seized two bottles, held them tight, and shouted, “Impermanence, I’ll say it plainly: I won’t abide by our agreement any longer. Leave now, before I lose my temper.”

Impermanence ignored him, turning angrily to grapple with Wu Cheng'an. Zhang Qinglin joined in, swinging his fists.

“Lao Lin, be careful! There’s something off about him—touching him feels like being pricked by needles,” Wu Cheng'an warned warily.

Zhang Qinglin nodded, sizing up Impermanence.

“If you force my hand, blame no one but yourself. You two, step aside!” Uncle Wang rushed into the room and, with remarkable agility, flung medicinal powder from the bottles at Impermanence.

Zhang Qinglin and Wu Cheng'an leapt clear and ran outside. Uncle Wang circled Impermanence, scattering every last grain of powder.

Impermanence’s glare grew even more frightening. He swung his axe wildly, and with a single blow, severed Uncle Wang’s arm. Blood gushed out, splattering the room.

“Uncle Wang! Uncle Wang!” Zhang Qinglin, shocked to the core, ignored the sudden pain pounding in his temples and rushed to support the old man.

Wu Cheng'an grabbed a stool and hurled it at Impermanence, but it had no effect.

“Dad, Ah Fu and the others are here!” Qingqing ran in from the door.

Behind her trailed seven or eight “people,” each terrifying in their own right. They froze at the grisly scene, then stormed in to grapple with Impermanence.

One of the newcomers approached Zhang Qinglin, who sized it up nervously. Uncle Wang whispered, “Don’t be afraid. They won’t harm you.”

Wu Cheng'an watched as the towering Impermanence suddenly toppled, rolling across the floor, axe flailing, shouting, “You little devils dare rebel against me!”

The struggle left Impermanence battered. Zhang Qinglin helped the wounded Uncle Wang outside, while Qingqing stood by the table, anxious and pale.

They settled Uncle Wang on a chair against the wall. Sweating profusely, he pointed with his good hand to the highest shelf of the cabinet—where the human medicines were kept. Zhang Qinglin rushed over, found gauze and hemostatic powder, and hurried back. By then, Qingqing was already kneeling by her father’s side. “Dad, you’re hurt—where’s the pain? It’s all my fault… Please, you must be all right…”

Uncle Wang’s face was ashen, lips bloodless, blood still streaming from his wound. Forcing a smile, he patted Qingqing’s head.

Zhang Qinglin hurried over with the medicine, preparing to staunch the bleeding, but Uncle Wang turned to him and said, “No need. I want to speak to my daughter alone…”

Qingqing, eyes brimming with tears, choked out, “Brother Zhang, please tend to his wound first.” Then she turned to her father. “Dad, whatever you have to say, wait until you’re better.”

But Uncle Wang was weakening fast. He exchanged a meaningful glance with Zhang Qinglin, who understood and reluctantly withdrew the medicine.

Uncle Wang had lost too much blood. The poisonous powder he’d scattered earlier had tainted his wound, the toxin now coursing through his body. Despite his agony, he struggled to remain upright. Zhang Qinglin straightened and stepped aside.

With a loud crash, Impermanence burst through the window and vanished into the night. Wu Cheng'an watched from the window, then joined Zhang Qinglin.

Uncle Wang used his last moments to explain a few matters to Qingqing, revealing the location of a medical book hidden beneath the bed. Then he closed his eyes and passed away.

Qingqing, unable to see the departing soul, shook her father’s body, calling out, “Dad, speak to me—please, say something!”

Zhang Qinglin and Wu Cheng'an stood silently nearby. Soon, Zhang Qinglin saw a white shadow drift from Uncle Wang’s body, pause, then vanish into the night.

That night was harrowing and heartbreaking. Uncle Wang had saved them—he was a good man. They buried him in the clean, weedless spot Qingqing indicated.

Gazing at Qingqing’s frail, lonely figure, Zhang Qinglin’s heart ached. She was now utterly alone in the world. As he pondered this, Wu Cheng'an suddenly swayed and collapsed against him.

Back inside, Zhang Qinglin checked Wu Cheng'an’s wound—it had reopened and was serious. He changed the dressing and advised rest.

Zhang Qinglin returned to the other room, tidied up, and began cleaning the blood from the floor. As he wiped, he recalled Uncle Wang’s last words to Qingqing: In my life I’ve done too many things against my conscience, but this time, I can face myself. You must help them leave—those who should go cannot be kept!

Qingqing entered, her eyes swollen and red, but she seemed to have matured overnight. Her gaze was heavy as she looked at Zhang Qinglin sitting on the floor.

Hearing her, Zhang Qinglin looked up.

“Brother Zhang, may I ask you something?” she said softly, stepping closer.

“What is it? Go ahead,” he replied.

“How can you see Ah Fu and the others? Ordinary people can’t see them. How do you do it?”

He hesitated. “I’m not sure myself… I only saw ghosts and strange things in dreams when I was ill—but now I see them in reality. Even I can hardly believe it.”

Qingqing stood quietly, hands clasped behind her back, eyes fixed on him. Unsettled, Zhang Qinglin urged, “Qingqing, go rest. I’ll finish cleaning up. Is there something else?”

Her expression softened, no longer shadowed by grief. A shy smile played on her lips. “Brother Zhang, stay here with me. Don’t leave. Live here with Qingqing. What’s so good about the outside world? I like you, Brother Zhang—will you marry me?”

Zhang Qinglin was stunned, scrambling to his feet. “Qingqing… I… we’re not suited… I’ll always be your brother…”

“I don’t want you as a brother. But, if you won’t marry me, then give me your eyes, and I’ll let you both go,” Qingqing said, her tone suddenly cold as she approached.

His eyes! She actually wanted his eyes. Zhang Qinglin recoiled in terror, noticing seven or eight ghosts looming behind her, all glaring at him hungrily.

“Well, Brother Zhang? Don’t be afraid. Will you marry me, or give me your eyes? Think it over. Don’t forget, your friend is still in that room. Ah Fu, let’s go. We won’t disturb Brother Zhang.” With a glance at him, Qingqing turned and left, the little ghosts trailing behind.