[Don’t bother with this dissolute young master]

The Chenghuang’s Procession was the liveliest festival in the old city, with gatherings everywhere for three days leading up to it. On the main day, Bai Zhun woke up early. He’d rarely donned it, but he wore a silk gown with bamboo patterns, sitting in his courtyard as he watched plumes of white smoke rise from the Chenghuang Temple’s pagoda.

Ah Xiu brought a cup of clear tea, set it down, and then gestured to Bai Zhun. She wanted to go out with Little Yan to see the procession and browse the temple fair. Bai Zhun took a sip of tea and agreed, “You must be back before dark.”

At fairs like these, there were always kidnappers and thieves, but Ah Xiu was strong enough to lift a refrigerator with both hands, so Huo Zhenye wasn’t worried at all. He pulled out his wallet and counted out a few bills for Ah Xiu. “Buy whatever you want to eat or play with, and treat your little friend to some candy.”

Ah Xiu knew what money was; Bai Zhun’s money box sat in the main hall, and she’d just grab a handful when she wanted to buy something. But she didn’t have her own money, nor did she have anything she particularly wanted to buy. She didn’t reach out. Bai Zhun glanced at her. “Take it.” Ah Xiu then put the money into her tasseled purse, changed into a new qipao, styled her hair, and headed out.

“Shall we go out and see it too?” Huo Zhenye had prepared for today for a long time. “I’ve booked a table at the First Pavilion of Langyuan. We won’t have to jostle with the crowds; we can watch the procession from upstairs.”

The paper figures for the god-welcoming parade had been ready for a while, waiting inside the temple for the auspicious moment to join the Chenghuang’s statue in the procession. Huo Zhenye had never paid attention before, but now he realized that the Chenghuang’s Procession was a major event. It had been announced in newspapers well in advance, detailing the procession route to the public. On the main day, people would wait along the route to offer tribute to the Chenghuang.

Bai Zhun disliked crowds; his reason for not going out was precisely his aversion to jostling with people. Year after year, he’d never seen his own paper figures join the Chenghuang’s Procession.

“No, it’s too noisy.”

“Come on, I even bought a camera. I’ll take pictures for you.” The paper figures would definitely be burned, but before that, they could take some photos as keepsakes.

Bai Zhun set down his teacup. “What’s so good to see during the day?”

Huo Zhenye paused, surprised. If there is nothing good to see during the day, would there be something good to see at night? He put his hand on Bai Zhun’s wheelchair and smiled at him. “Just think of it as accompanying me.” He coaxed and tricked Bai Zhun into the car, drove to Simalu, and stopped in front of the First Pavilion of Langyuan. The three-story building had all glass windows, earning it the nickname “Crystal Palace.” Huo Zhenye had booked the room facing the street half a month in advance.

Bai Zhun sat by the window, looking down. The streets were already filled with people, baskets in hand, filled with offerings. By the bridge and at street corners, some were drawing circles and burning paper money. The Chenghuang’s Procession, meant to succor restless spirits, was specifically for lonely ghosts and wild spirits. During the day, there were too many living people. But at night, these street corners would become gathering points for wild ghosts, scrambling for the paper money burned and the food offered during the day.

Huo Zhenye watched Bai Zhun sit by the window and look downstairs, his eyebrows raised. This man, he’s just stubborn. Clearly, he still wants to see it in his heart.

“Waiter, order a table of vegetarian dishes from Gongde Lin ^[1] the famed Buddhist vegetarian restaurant’s name (est. 1922, Shanghai), and bring up any fine pastries the building has.” The waiter took the money, saw there was extra even for a whole table, and bowed before heading out. Soon, tea and pastries were delivered.

The Chenghuang’s Procession was truly grand. There were gongs and drums clearing the way, followed by two ranks of bailiffs. As the procession reached the teahouse, Huo Zhenye raised his camera. Bai Zhun tasted a date paste and yam cake, glancing at Huo Zhenye. “It’s miles long, save your strength.”

Huo Zhenye put down the camera. “Foreigners also have a ghost festival; they call it Halloween. At night, people dress up as ghosts.” When he first went to study abroad, he didn’t understand. That night, foreign students ran around campus in white bedsheets, specifically to scare East Asian students who didn’t know. Huo Zhenye didn’t believe in ghosts or spirits, thinking it was some kind of prank. He even caught one and beat him up.

Bai Zhun scoffed, “Tonight, I’ll show you what a Chinese ghost festival is like.”

Below, a group of executioners brandishing broadswords had just passed, followed by a line of female prisoners, all disheveled and in prison garb, but each with a fair countenance, not looking like respectable women. A colorful “dry boat” float swayed past, a clam spirit inside wearing flesh-colored clothing with an embroidered belly-band, its two clam shells opening and closing. Then came the Eight Immortals Crossing the Sea, and Wu Song Fighting the Tiger. Each troupe was heralded by golden gongs, making it incredibly lively.

“Are these all things the Chenghuang wants to see?” Huo Zhenye found it amusing and pressed the shutter button a few more times.

Bai Zhun lowered his head and blew on his tea. “These are what people want to see.” Those who carried the incense burner and pierced themselves with steel needles were gang members; those pretending to be prisoners and dragged along were brothel workers. Everyone wanted to atone for their sins in this life, but how could sins be so easily repaid? Among the long procession, a dozen or so sword dancers spun and landed. As a steel blade grazed his scalp, one looked up and saw Bai Zhun by the teahouse window. He immediately stopped, clasping his hands in a respectful salute.

Huo Zhenye saw this and asked, “You know them?”

Bai Zhun frowned. “They’re from the Fourth Branch.” Now that the Fourth Branch people have seen him, he won’t have any peace.

A chorus of admiration erupted from the street. The paper offerings made by Bai Zhun followed behind the divine palanquin. Each paper offering was as tall as the temple’s divine statues, which were majestic and solemn, with their beards, hair, and clothing made of paper silk. The common people on the street knelt in unison, offering their tributes to the Chenghuang.

This was the first time Bai Zhun had heard such praise. He popped a crispy broad bean into his mouth. While he felt these people didn’t truly understand the exquisite subtlety of his paper figures, he wasn’t displeased.

Huo Zhenye ran up and down, taking many photos. “After they’re printed, we’ll frame them.” This was their first time making paper offerings together. He planned to take photos every year from now on and create an album.

“That’s it, let’s go.” Bai Zhun yawned. It was time for his nap. The procession would last all day, and night was when he would truly be busy.

As soon as Bai Zhun got home, he burrowed into his spring bed and didn’t get up until night had completely fallen, and the procession team, with gongs and drums, had carried the divine statue back into the Chenghuang Temple’s warm hall. Only then did he lazily crawl out of the spring bed, roll his bamboo wheelchair to Huo Zhenye’s bedside, and nudge him with a bamboo strip: “Time to go out.”

They drove to the southern suburbs. Huo Zhenye had never been to such a place before. “Where is this?”

“The Southern Suburbs’ Restless Spirit Altar.” At the city’s founding, altars for restless spirits were set up in all four directions. The Chenghuang’s three annual processions were specifically to succor these spirits and ensure local peace. In these times, the concession had one way of life, while the old city had another. Even the Chenghuang couldn’t enter the concession anymore.

Bai Zhun set up an altar by the roadside, placing an incense burner and lighting long incense sticks. From time to time, he scattered a handful of paper money.

“What is this offering for?” Huo Zhenye looked around. In front was a desolate road, behind was a forest. There wasn’t even the sound of insects or birds. It was empty and cold, enveloped in night fog.

Bai Zhun’s lips curved slightly. He poured two ancient coins from his sleeve and handed them to Huo Zhenye. “Then let me open your eyes.”

Huo Zhenye took the ancient coins, not understanding. Kaiyuan Tongbao ^[2] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kaiyuan_Tongbao, they’re valuable, but not to the extent of opening his eyes. As he watched Bai Zhun gaze into the distance, he lowered his head to look at the ancient coins in his hand. He seemed to understand something and raised the coins to his eyes, looking through their central holes.

Just a moment ago, the desolate road in the southern suburbs had been empty, but now a long, bustling line of people walked along it. Red and white lanterns swayed. At the very front, eight ghost-faced figures with large heads and slender bodies slowly carried a large golden palanquin down the center of the road. Green-faced imps beat gongs and drums ahead, while fanged demons held up placards and waved banners behind. ‘The Chenghuang’s Procession, myriad ghosts coming to pay homage.’

Huo Zhenye lowered the ancient coins. Before his eyes, it was still the clear moon and distinct trees, and the surroundings were still uninhabited, though the night fog had thickened somewhat. He raised the coins again, and the scene changed once more. The grand divine palanquin drew closer, and ox-headed and horse-faced guardians, restrained evil spirits with iron chains, slowly followed behind the golden palanquin. It was then that he understood what Bai Zhun meant by it being “even livelier at night.”

The paper offerings Bai Zhun had made were already burned and presented to the gods during the day, yet now they appeared in the middle of the procession, no longer needing to be carried; the figures themselves moved.

When the golden palanquin reached them, Bai Zhun tossed out a handful of yellow paper “hell money” and placed an incense stick in the small censer. “You light one too.”

Huo Zhenye lit an incense stick as instructed. When he looked up again, he saw a few familiar faces in the procession. Xihong, as desired, wore a new cheongsam. In her hand, she held a long silk ribbon tied to Young Master Qiao’s neck, walking gracefully and alluringly in the line. Tailor Zhou stood beside her, his eyes fixed on her, scissor tips pointed at her neck. Mrs. Song held a child’s hand, smiling as she followed at the back of the procession; this time, she had finally found her son.

Bai Zhun burned the finished paper figures and watched the procession pass by. The departed souls received their items, joyfully following behind the ghostly escorts. When this procession disappeared at the end of the Restless Spirit Altar, Bai Zhun’s long incense stick also burned out.

Huo Zhenye returned the two ancient coins to Bai Zhun. “They’re for you.”

On the way back, Bai Zhun fell asleep in the back seat of the car. Huo Zhenye covered him with his suit jacket, and while driving, he toyed with the pair of bronze coins, picking one up and holding it to his eye now and then, like a child with a new telescope. Looking through the coin’s hole, he saw the long street filled with wild ghosts squatting by the roadside, scrambling for offerings: men, women, old, and young, all barefoot and fighting for food. As soon as Huo Zhenye looked at them, they all turned their heads and stood up, their faces pale and drawn, gathering around the car.

Bai Zhun shifted in the back seat and coughed softly. The wild ghosts exchanged glances, then scattered and retreated in fright. “Drive your car; don’t go provoking things unnecessarily.”

It was late when they got home. Opening the door, they saw seven or eight pastry boxes on the table, all adorned with red paper. Inside the paper boxes were longevity peach buns. Each bun was no larger than a palm, shaped like a peach with a touch of red at the tip, resting on steamed green leaves made of dough. Seven invitations, each wishing him a happy birthday.

Aside from Han Zhu of the Third Branch who sent a basket of fresh peaches, the rest were cold pastries. Bai Zhun was a bit hungry, but the longevity peach buns were already cold and no longer soft or fragrant, so he couldn’t eat them.

Huo Zhenye picked up one of the birthday greetings. “It’s your birthday today? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Bai Zhun, still hungry, entered the main hall. “What’s there to tell?” The Ghost Festival was not a good day anyway.

Huo Zhenye stood in the room, hands on his hips, trying to figure things out. It was already the middle of the night; where could he buy Bai Zhun a birthday cake? If he had known it was Bai Zhun’s birthday, it wouldn’t have been so bleak. He checked the kitchen: the fridge had eggs, vegetables, and some dried noodles, just enough to make a bowl of longevity noodles.

Bai Zhun placed yellow paper on the incense altar, his own name written on it. He lit a long incense stick, which burned furiously, its ash falling rapidly, quickly consuming half its length. Bai Zhun stared intently at the stick, his fingers tightly clasped. This was his life-span incense—lit once every birthday to see if this year’s measure surpassed the last.   This was the business of the Seventh Branch: capturing malevolent spirits in exchange for lifespan.

Before the incense finished burning, a strong aroma of sesame oil wafted through the room. Huo Zhenye came in, holding a bowl, leaning against the doorframe. “It’s a bit mushy, but you can still tell they’re noodles.” It was a bowl of noodles with two small green vegetables, a poached egg, and a few drops of sesame oil.

Bai Zhun lifted his eyelashes to look at him. Since his master passed away, no one had cooked longevity noodles for him. Huo Zhenye thought he disliked the blandness of the noodles, and even he felt a bit embarrassed by his culinary effort. “How about you take a bite? Just for the sake of celebrating your birthday. We can make up for it tomorrow—dinner and a show?”

Bai Zhun sat at the table and reached for the bowl. He picked up a single noodle with his chopsticks; though soft, it was unbroken, and he slurped the long strand into his mouth.

On the altar, the lit incense stick’s flame flickered, then Bai Zhun turned to look. The rapidly burning incense had extinguished.

“Why did it stop burning? Do you want to replace it?” Huo Zhenye asked.

“No need. Go open the box under the altar and put the incense inside.”

Huo Zhenye did as told. He took the long incense stick, pulled open the red box, and found it full of similar half-burned, unfinished incense sticks.

“Is it long?” Bai Zhun picked up another noodle, but hesitated, his grip on the chopsticks tightening.

“Yeah, it’s long,” Huo Zhenye replied casually. He pulled a handful of incense sticks from the box—about fifteen or sixteen in total. The one he had just taken out was the longest among them.

Bai Zhun lowered his head to eat his noodles, a subtle relief in his heart. Longer is good.

Ah Xiu entered the room, handing Huo Zhenye a piece of paper. She gestured, explaining that a police officer from the station had called the alley’s public phone, and someone had then come to the house to deliver the note.

Huo Zhenye held it between his fingers. It read, “Urgent matter, desperately await your reply,” with the character “Tao” as the signature.

The handwriting was delicate, surely a woman’s. Huo Zhenye pondered for a moment before recalling, “Tao? Miss Tao? What urgent matter could she need my help with? And she even tracked me all the way from the police station to here?”

“She’s looking for you, the Psychic Detective. Maybe she wants you to catch a ghost,” Bai Zhun said. His life incense had grown longer, extending his lifespan by a few months, and he was in a great mood, so he didn’t bother arguing with the playboy.

Huo Zhenye sighed with relief. “If that’s all it is, that’d be great. Just hope it’s not another blind date.”

“You… you’ve had a blind date with this Miss Tao?” Bai Zhun held a green vegetable leaf with his chopsticks, staring at Huo Zhenye. First the little doctor, now Miss Tao. He hasn’t realized this rake is quite popular.