Volume One: The Field of Eight Coffins Chapter 68: The Soul-Crushing Technique of Mount Tai

I knew my Third Uncle was very experienced in this sort of thing; his instincts had always been spot on. Hearing his words, I joined him, each of us gripping a corner of the dressing table, preparing to lift and turn it around.

Third Uncle warned me that the thing was quite old, and told me to be careful not to break it apart. I acknowledged, called out a count, and together we tried to lift the dressing table. But to our surprise, whatever wood it was made from, it was unbelievably heavy. We couldn't get it off the floor. In the end, we gave up trying to lift it and instead just dragged it out a little.

Even that left me dripping with sweat, and Third Uncle was gasping for breath. He waved his hand and said, “That's enough. I just need to check if there's anything behind it.”

With that, Third Uncle switched on his flashlight and shone it behind the dressing table. I watched from outside as he examined the space for a long while. At last, he pulled himself out, spitting repeatedly. “Bah, it's nothing but decades of dust back there. There's nothing at all. My arm is too thick—Yangzi, you reach in and feel under the table. See if there's anything. If not, we'll leave.”

I nodded, lay down on the floor, and reached under the dressing table. The legs were a little over two inches high, just enough for my arm to fit. The back was covered in dust, so it was unlikely to be any cleaner underneath, but I didn’t care about that now. I pressed my hand to the underside and slowly felt around.

I didn’t expect to find anything, but as my hand reached the middle, I seemed to touch something. I made a sound of surprise. Third Uncle immediately asked, “What is it? Did you find something?”

I nodded and told him not to rush. Carefully, I felt it with my hand and reported that it seemed to be a piece of paper stuck to the bottom. Third Uncle instructed, “Go slow and peel it off. Don’t tear it.”

I agreed, but just as I was about to remove it, Third Uncle suddenly stopped me. I was puzzled, but he pulled me up and took out a large bundle of red string from his bag. Threaded onto the red string were quite a few copper coins, which clinked together as he handled them.

Third Uncle unfolded the string with the coins and laid it out to encircle the dressing table. The ends met and were held down with another copper coin. Having finished, he signaled that I could take the paper from under the dresser.

Unable to hold back my curiosity, I asked, “Uncle, what’s all this for?”

He waved me off. “Just in case. Don’t ask yet. See what that thing is first. When you take it out, whatever you do, don’t bring it outside the circle of red string.”

So I lay down again and carefully peeled the paper from the bottom of the dressing table. When I finally pulled it out, I saw it was just a photograph—a faded, yellowed old photo.

I held it up to the sunlight streaming through the window and said, “Why does this person look so familiar?”

Third Uncle leaned in for a look and sighed. “Yangzi, I really have no words for you. With your memory, how did you get into college? Isn’t this the person from the wooden figurine?”

His reminder made me realize the truth. The person in the photo and the figure on the wooden effigy were indeed the same. It was all too much of a coincidence for me to have thought of it myself.

I looked more closely. The woman in the photo was wearing a cheongsam as well, seated elegantly on a chair, eyes full of allure and charm. But it was clearly an old photo, blurred and yellowed almost beyond recognition.

Third Uncle told me to set the photograph down and help him move the dressing table back to its original spot.

Strangely, this time as we moved the dressing table, although it was still heavy, we managed to lift it without much trouble. How could that be? All it took was to remove a single photograph, and the difference was so dramatic.

I was baffled, but Third Uncle seemed unsurprised, as if he had expected it.

Once the dresser was back in place, Third Uncle told me to lift one leg and slide the photograph underneath it. I did exactly as he instructed, though my mind was full of questions.

After everything was done, we left the room and returned to the courtyard. The dried cat carcass we had dug up from under the tree, along with the piece of red cloth, were still lying where we left them. We still needed to take care of those.

Third Uncle said that since the wooden effigy had been removed from the cat’s belly, the dried cat corpse was now useless.

We built a fire in the yard with dry branches, burned the cat’s body, and then buried the ashes back in the original hole.

Third Uncle said we could leave. We closed the gate behind us, and I glanced back at the old building. Beneath the lilac tree, before the dressing table, the carved wooden bed, the exquisite wooden effigy… I guessed that a remarkable story must have unfolded here. Whether we could unravel the haunting in this house depended on whether we could learn that story.

Third Uncle got in the car and said directly, “Call Xu Ruoxi. I need to confirm something.”

I nodded and dialed Xu Ruoxi. Her voice sounded weak and tired. It turned out she’d been in the hospital for the past couple of days—not because of any major illness, but because she’d been so frightened that night she’d had a persistent fever. She gave us the name of the hospital and told us to go there directly.

Hearing this, both Third Uncle and I felt guilty. We hadn’t meant any harm; we’d only wanted to curb her arrogance a little, never imagining we’d cause her such distress.

On the way to the hospital, I asked Third Uncle about the dressing table. I figured he must know the truth behind the photograph.

Sure enough, Third Uncle explained that the reason the dresser had been so heavy was because of that photograph. He suspected that someone had sealed a soul inside the photo, and that the soul’s range was limited to the dresser itself. This method of sealing and suppressing a soul generally involved a kind of Daoist art called the Mount Tai Soul Suppression Technique. It was a highly sophisticated method, similar to summoning a Yellow Turban Warrior or moving a Mount Tai stone to press down a soul. The soul could be trapped in a photo, or in a portrait. With the Mount Tai stone, the dresser became extraordinarily heavy.

Listening to Third Uncle, it all sounded like a myth. Could such an art truly exist?

I asked, “You circled the dresser with red string to keep the soul in the photo from escaping?”

Third Uncle nodded. “Exactly. Until we know whose soul it is, we can’t let her get out.”

“Is the soul likely to be the woman in the photo?”

“Most likely. That’s why we need to find out who she was.”

(End of chapter)