Chapter 122: Ghost Gate Pass

The drum my eldest brother held was not particularly large, but the sound it produced was earth-shaking. Each beat seemed to strike directly at the heart. As he drummed, a gale descended from the heavens, plunging into the water and churning it into a massive pillar. Once the pillar surged into the air, it transformed into a colossal water dragon. The dragon fixed its gaze upon the floating corpses emerging from the Twelve Ghost Grottos and let out a roar that shattered the silence. Following this roar, a bizarre scene unfolded beneath the water: those floating corpses, one by one, knelt in the direction of my brother’s drumming.

"Water ghosts raised on human flesh—truly formidable," the Fatty remarked.

He was speaking to me, standing close by, but my brother, standing far off on the altar, seemed to hear him nonetheless. He turned and shouted to the Fatty, "Force open the Ghost Gate, chant the Scripture of Salvation, and ferry the lost souls!"

The Fatty’s face darkened as he cursed, "You make it sound so easy! You always save the most grueling and exhausting work for me!" Despite his grumbling, he instructed us to maintain our positions. With a wave of his hand, the Azure Dragon above lowered its head. The Fatty leaped onto the dragon’s crown, rising into the air as if walking on flat ground, looking exceptionally imposing. As he rode the dragon toward the altar, the flare burned out, and I could no longer see clearly.

At that moment, Old Man Liu fired another flare. By its light, I saw the Fatty beginning to dance upon the altar.

My brother drummed, and the Fatty danced.

Though the Fatty’s figure was bloated, his movements were incredibly harmonious and natural. In this regard, he was the most agile fat man I had ever seen. His movements synchronized perfectly with my brother’s rhythm, creating a sense of exquisite musical consonance. As he danced, the air behind him—in the direction of the altar—seemed to tear open, and a patch of black chaos slowly emerged.

Within that chaos stood an ancient, imposing gate. Before it, eighteen Ghost Kings glared with fury, accompanied by vivid images of gatekeeping minor spirits. Inscribed upon the gate in golden characters were the words: "Ghost Gate Pass of the Netherworld." Beyond the gate, shrouded in mist, one could glimpse an ancient city filled with dark architecture. It was a place of chilling ghostly energy, yet thousands of lanterns were lit, as if it were another world entirely.

Even without my brother’s earlier words, I could tell that the Fatty was forcibly opening the passage to the underworld. Beyond the Ghost Gate lay the legendary Nether Ghost City. Once the gate was opened, the Fatty shouted to the eighteen Ghost Kings, "The Ghost Gate is open! Why do you still hesitate to ferry these lost souls into the shadows? This place is filled with countless corpses, turning it into a ghost land in the realm of the living; your failure to act is already a dereliction of duty. Now that the path is clear, why not remedy the situation? Do you want me to report you to the Celestial Master’s Mansion?"

An ordinary person would have been frightened half to death by the presence of the Ghost Kings, but the Fatty spoke with such audacity. Surprisingly, the Ghost Kings did not take offense, which made me even more curious about the Fatty’s lineage. According to him, his sect, though based in the world of the living, held such high status that even the celestial gods and the underworld officials had to show respect. The Ghost King did not grow angry at the Fatty’s reprimand; instead, he stepped forward and bowed, saying, "We have long known of the countless souls here and wished to guide them home. However, to pass through the Ghost Gate, one requires a Yellow Springs Travel Permit. We hold the permits, and the Yama Kings and the Magistrate of Fengdu have already affixed their seals. Only the local City God refuses to stamp his seal. Without that seal, the permits are incomplete, and we cannot ferry the ghosts into the nether realm. This is not our negligence; as soon as the local City God affixes his seal, we can ferry these souls immediately."

I now knew that the local City God was my grandfather, a practitioner of the Ghost Path. The Ghost King’s words were clearly a way of passing the buck. As the Fatty once explained, a City God is a minor official in the underworld. If the Yama Kings and the Magistrate of Fengdu had already sealed the permits, would a mere City God dare refuse? It was obvious that this was a political maneuver. It was as if a directive had been issued by the central government and the provincial authorities; would a lowly village head dare to defy it? Impossible. The only explanation was that the village head was acting on secret instructions, or perhaps it was a tacit understanding. Considering my grandfather’s role in the Ghost Path, it seemed highly likely that this was a deliberate game of shadows.

As I pondered this, a boat slowly "flowed" out from the Nine-Stream River. It was a black boat—or rather, a dark, blood-red hue. Standing on the prow was a figure wearing a theatrical mask, hands clasped behind his back. It was none other than my grandfather. Seeing him again, even though I had forgiven him in my heart, left me with complex emotions. Forgiveness was one thing, but if we were to interact, I didn't know how to face him; he was no longer the old man who had accompanied my childhood with his pipe always in hand.

"The City God has arrived. Why haven't you requested the seal?" the Fatty called out.

No sooner had he spoken than my grandfather, standing on the prow, casually tossed an object into the air. A black seal floated there, carved with nine qilins, each carrying a small ghost on its back. It looked exquisite, spinning in the air.

"With the City God’s seal, we shall proceed with the ferrying," the Ghost King bowed.

The Fatty sat cross-legged on the ground and began to chant. I could not understand the scripture, but I assumed it was the Scripture of Salvation my brother had mentioned. In the chaos above, the eighteen Ghost Kings reached out, creating a bridge between the air and the water. Countless spirits from the river ascended the bridge, received their Yellow Springs Travel Permits from the minor spirits outside the Ghost Gate, and passed through. The river was teeming with spirits, but before the Ghost Gate, they were like ants, filing in one by one. Watching this was a heart-wrenching experience; it served as a stark reminder that whether one was prestigious or humble in the world of the living, all distinctions vanished before the gates of death. In the eyes of gods and ghosts, all living things are but ants.

Once all the lost souls had passed through, the Ghost Kings bowed to the Fatty and the City God, and the chaotic gate on the altar slowly dissipated.

With the gate and the kings gone, I looked toward the altar. My brother and my grandfather were once again staring at each other.

I grew anxious. With my brother’s abrasive temper, would he start a fight right there? They stood in silence, locking eyes. Knowing the Fatty’s cunning, he would never involve himself in such a mess. As I watched them, I didn't even notice when the Fatty had returned to the bank. He was drenched in sweat and said to me, "Your brother is too cunning! He completely used me as a laborer. Now I’m in trouble. I came here in secret, and my identity was already exposed saving your brother. Now that I’ve used my sect’s token to open the Ghost Gate, my masters will surely know. You lot are fine, but I am in for it."

"You opened the Ghost Gate to ferry lost souls; that is a good deed, a virtuous act. Don't Taoists prioritize the lives of all under heaven? If you’ve done a good deed, will your sect really punish you?" I asked.

"You are just too naive," the Fatty wiped his sweat. "Do you think the underworld doesn't know about the Twelve Ghost Grottos? The Ghost Path defies the gods; do you think the gods are unaware? They simply choose to turn a blind eye. By doing what I’ve done, I’ve likely poked a hornet's nest."

His assessment matched my own. This was perhaps a secret, and a secret tied directly to the Ghost Path. But I had no time to ponder it; I was worried about my brother and grandfather facing each other before the Twelve Ghost Grottos.

"Fatty, they won't start fighting, will they?" I asked anxiously.

"Kid, with your brother’s foul temper, who knows what he’s capable of? Want me to send you over there to talk them out of it?" the Fatty suggested.

I wanted to agree, but ultimately, I shook my head. My grandfather wouldn't explain much to us, and my brother had his own pride. Why would people like them listen to me?