“Lost a soul?” I frowned as soon as I heard it. Losing a soul was something I’d read about in one of those little superstitious books from the old days.

I don’t know if any of you have experienced this—sometimes you suddenly space out, and random memories or past scenes flash through your mind.

Like when you’re doing something and your mind wanders off for no reason. That’s what they call “losing a soul.” But it’s not usually a big deal because your soul will find its way back on its own.

But for Li Shanshan, it wasn’t so simple.

Right now, Li Shanshan’s soul couldn’t find its way back. It was lost, wandering aimlessly and helplessly. And if dawn breaks, when the first rays of sunlight appear, her soul will completely dissipate.

When Li Qingshan heard that his daughter had lost one soul and three spirits, his face immediately turned anxious. He quickly turned to Brother Xiang and asked, “What do we do? Can we call back her soul?”

“Of course, it can be done,” Brother Xiang said with a serious expression, nodding. “But it’s not as easy as you might think. Calling back a soul and summoning a ghost are completely different.

“To summon a ghost, you just chant the person’s birth date and use Daoist methods to forcibly bring the ghost over. But ghosts still have all three souls and seven spirits intact. In fact, you could even say that a ghost’s soul and spirit are stronger than those of a living person, which is why they can handle being summoned forcefully.

“But Li Shanshan’s three souls and seven spirits are scattered and extremely fragile. Using that method would completely destroy them.”

“Then is there a way or not?” I pressed, looking at Brother Xiang.

Brother Xiang sighed and turned to Li Qingshan. “Chief Li, there’s a crossroads next to the hospital. You need to order it sealed off immediately—no cars, no people allowed through. It’s 11 p.m. now. It must be done before 1 a.m., or we’ll miss the only chance.

“If we fail, then by sunrise, Li Shanshan’s remaining soul and spirits will be burned away by sunlight. Also, prepare a funeral banner, mourning clothes, and paper money.”

“Alright.” If Li Qingshan had been skeptical of us earlier, there was no trace of it now. After all, he’d seen Brother Xiang and me take down those two rotting corpses with his own eyes and knew we weren’t bluffing.

Without another word, Li Qingshan turned and dashed out. Seeing this, Uncle Jin frowned and asked, “What can I do to help?”

Uncle Jin and Li Qingshan seemed to have a good relationship. Seeing his friend’s daughter in trouble, he couldn’t just stand by idly.

Brother Xiang instructed, “Uncle Jin, can you get some cinnabar, black dog’s blood, yellow paper, virgin boy’s urine, and a calligraphy brush. Make it quick.”

“Got it.” Uncle Jin nodded and ran off as well.

Seeing Brother Xiang’s serious expression, I couldn’t help but ask, “What about me? What should I do?”

“Next, it’s all up to you,” Brother Xiang said, suddenly cracking a smile at me.

“Up to me?” I blinked, puzzled.

“Of course! You know I specialize in Feng Shui. Once we have the cinnabar and yellow paper, you’ll draw a Soul Stabilize Talisman to keep Li Shanshan’s remaining two souls and two spirits anchored to her body. After that, follow Li Qingshan and perform the crying soul ritual.”

“Crying soul,” I murmured, the concept clicking in my mind.

Crying soul is an ancient Chinese method for summoning lost souls. Its origins are untraceable, but it’s one of the most commonly used techniques by Yin-Yang masters.

First, you need to find a place heavy with Yin energy near where the soul was lost. Then, the lost soul’s closest family member puts on mourning clothes and wails, calling out the soul’s name to guide it back.

You might have seen this in movies, but the real process is far more dangerous—something films often skip over.

The human soul is divided into three main parts: Tianhun (heavenly soul), Dihun (earthly soul), and Renhun (human soul). The seven spirits are Shigou (corpse dog), Fushi (hidden arrow), Queyin (sparrow shade), Tunzei (devourer of thieves), Feidu (non-poison), Chuhui (expeller of filth), and Choufei (smelly lung), representing joy, anger, sorrow, fear, love, hatred, and desire, respectively.

Among them, Chuhui is the spirit of anger—the malicious spirit. During the summoning, this spirit will try everything to stop you, even tempting you to kill the summoner, which would render the soul incomplete.

What’s worse, ghosts from nearby who have died might also be summoned. These ghosts, driven by envy and resentment, would cause trouble when they see someone attempting to bring a soul back to life.

It’s also crucial that no unlucky living person witnesses the ritual. If someone with bad luck sees it, the summoned soul might notice and, out of fear, run away.

In short, the rules for summoning are far from simple.

Twenty minutes later, the surgery was over. The doctor told us the critical period had passed and that as long as Li Shanshan rested in the ward, her physical condition would recover.

Though her soul was still a problem, her body being out of danger was good news. About thirty minutes later, she was transferred to a private ward. By then, it was already 11:30, and Uncle Jin had returned with the items Brother Xiang requested.

It had taken him quite some time to gather them, which wasn’t surprising—these things weren’t easy to find late at night, especially the black dog’s blood. In Chongqing, where could you even find a black dog at this hour? He’d had to slaughter a black police dog to get it.

Once we had everything, I started preparing the talisman in Li Shanshan’s room.

The room held only me, Brother Xiang, Uncle Jin, and the unconscious Li Shanshan. It had been a while since I’d last drawn a talisman. I’d probably gotten lazy, distracted by fun. Back when I first learned talisman-drawing, I’d been obsessed, but the novelty wore off, and I stopped practicing regularly.

I pulled out a large bowl and mixed the black dog’s blood, cinnabar, and virgin boy’s urine in specific proportions, stirring them together. Then, I dipped the calligraphy brush into the mixture and began to draw.

Though I hadn’t drawn a Soul Stabilize Talisman before, I’d seen it done. It’s one of the most basic talismans, designed to simply anchor a person’s soul and spirits to their body.

Five minutes later, the talisman was done. I took out my personal Daoist seal, nicknamed “Batman,” dabbed it in the blood-cinnabar mix, and pressed it firmly onto the center of the talisman. As I did, the talisman emitted a faint golden glow before quickly fading.

Satisfied, I nodded and affixed the talisman to Li Shanshan’s forehead, chanting, “The five elements resonate, the spell moves the six directions. Command!”

With the talisman in place, we sat in the room to rest, waiting for Li Qingshan’s signal.

We passed the time with quiet chatter until, at 12:30, Li Qingshan called. He asked us to head downstairs.

The hospital was near a large crossroads, the perfect location for summoning due to its heavy Yin energy.

When we arrived, the long street was eerily empty except for the police.

The officers had cordoned off the area far away, redirecting any traffic. Li Qingshan approached us, carrying mourning clothes, and asked anxiously, “How’s Shanshan?”

Brother Xiang nodded. “She’s stable for now. Since everything’s ready, let’s wait. At 1 a.m., when the Yin energy peaks, we’ll begin.”