Chapter Two: Malevolent Spirits

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The library was enveloped in silence, broken only by the faint sound of a brush gliding across the table. The cloth he used to wipe away water stains grew gradually saturated. Chen Mu was utterly absorbed in practicing calligraphy, finding endless delight in the task. Never before had he been so wholly focused on a single endeavor.

In his previous life, he had often entertained the idea of practicing calligraphy. He had even bought model copybooks, but after writing just two lines, he couldn't resist the urge to check his phone. After two days of half-hearted effort, he inevitably gave up.

It was the same with everything else in his life. Sometimes, he would wake up with a sudden desire to change his mediocre existence, yet by the next day, he would fall back into his old ways. That state of fleeting clarity, quickly followed by confusion, was like being trapped in a waking nightmare—a paralysis he could never escape.

But in this life, even when faced with the far more tedious and challenging brush script, a style entirely unfamiliar to him until a day ago, Chen Mu found himself brimming with an unprecedented passion. The feeling of knowing how to improve with each character he wrote was intoxicating, making it impossible to stop, each stroke more exhilarating than the last.

Around two in the afternoon, his stomach rumbled, pulling him from his state of immersion. The water calligraphy on the table was slowly drying. The gray walls reappeared before his eyes.

Writing: 8056/10000/First Tier.

Chen Mu savored the lingering satisfaction, grateful—no matter who had brought him to this place.

Lunch was delivered by Chengming, a young acolyte. Three coarse vegetable cakes, a plate of boiled greens, and a bowl of thin porridge. Chen Mu devoured the meal ravenously, finishing every bite under Chengming’s astonished gaze.

Once the boy was sent away, Chen Mu returned to his practice. He changed the water in the brush basin time and again. The cloth was wrung dry, soaked, and wrung again. He continued until dusk fell and his vision blurred from exhaustion, finally pausing to massage his aching back and waist.

Writing: 8673/10000/First Tier.

The gray wall showed his calligraphy skill had taken another great leap forward.

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"Still, I’m not as skilled as my predecessor," he thought. After some consideration, Chen Mu squeezed out the water from his brush and slipped it into the inner pocket of his wide sleeve. There was a deadline for copying the scriptures—the temple would not allow him to linger and eat for free. If he wanted to catch up with his predecessor’s level and finish the copying work early, he needed to continue practicing back in his quarters.

He had loathed the idea of working overtime in his previous life, wishing he could curse his managers for making him do so. Now, however, he felt a strange sense of anticipation.

...

In the west courtyard of the Pure Wind Monastery, two figures stood in the shadow beyond the moon gate.

"Uncle He, did that scholar behave oddly today?" asked a solemn, middle-aged priest in his thirties. He was Chengyi, the senior disciple of Master Fengren.

Priest He, the firekeeper, glanced anxiously toward the darkened guest quarters. "I tested him twice today—nothing out of the ordinary."

"Last night, the Unmindful Bell rang for no reason. There must be an evil spirit in the temple!" Chengyi said coldly. "Everyone here practices martial arts and is full of vitality; only that scholar is frail and weak—he’s the most likely target for possession!"

"But apart from practicing calligraphy with water, he did nothing odd all day," He hesitated. "Could the spirit have been frightened away by the bell?"

"He’s practicing calligraphy?" Chengyi narrowed his eyes. "I’ve seen his writing—well-structured and elegant. With skills like that, why would he need to practice?!" He snorted. "Could he really be possessed?"

Priest He turned pale. The Pure Wind Monastery specialized in exorcising spirits, but that was always Master Fengren's work. He had been a firekeeper his whole life and had never encountered anything so uncanny. The thought that he might be face-to-face with a spirit made him shiver uncontrollably.

"So, should we go tie him up now?"

"No. The moon is bright tonight—spirits are more unpredictable. We’ll wait until morning. At dawn, we’ll lure him into the Patriarch’s Hall and use the Unmindful Bell to subdue him directly!" Chengyi said grimly. This spirit was bold indeed, daring to cause trouble at the Pure Wind Monastery. Ordinary spirits lacked intelligence, but this one practiced calligraphy, trying to deceive them—it was no ordinary apparition!

"Will it work?" Priest He asked uneasily.

"When a spirit possesses a body, flesh and soul are at odds. The Unmindful Bell is best at capturing souls—it’s the bane of evil spirits," Chengyi reassured him. "Uncle He, here’s a protective talisman left by Master. Keep it on you tonight and you’ll be safe. Tomorrow, act as usual—don’t give anything away." He pulled a yellow talisman from his sleeve, its lines blood-red and almost crystalline in the moonlight.

"And Chengming—he’s young and vulnerable to spirits. After breakfast, take him to the back hill to tend the garden. I’ll personally guide the scholar to the hall," Chengyi instructed carefully.

"Alright, I’ll do as you say!" Priest He felt relieved. He had no desire to meet a spirit face-to-face.

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...

The next morning, in the library.

Chen Mu, sporting dark circles under his eyes, spread a piece of white paper the size of two palms—a sheet already cut for copying scriptures.

"The Gate of Origin, profound upon profound..." He wrote out a page of scripture in one unbroken flow. Placing his brush on the rest, he laid the newly copied page beside the one his predecessor had written for comparison.

"At last," he sighed with relief.

At a thought, the gray wall appeared before his eyes.

Writing: 103/10000/Second Tier.

A whole night’s work had not been in vain.

Fearing the temple’s people would find his behavior odd, he hadn’t dared to light a lamp. Fortunately, the full moon shone high last night, providing enough light for him to practice his calligraphy.

"Master Chen, you’re up early today," a voice suddenly sounded at the door.

Startled, Chen Mu looked up and met a face with a faint, ambiguous smile.

He recognized this man: Chengyi, the senior disciple of the monastery, the very person who had recruited his predecessor to copy scriptures.

Last night, as he revisited his predecessor’s memories, he discovered that there were seven volumes to copy, with a generous scribe’s fee of one hundred copper coins—enough to live frugally for over a month.

"Good morning, Master Chengyi," Chen Mu greeted politely.

"I shouldn’t disturb you while you’re copying scriptures, but I do have a small favor to ask," Chengyi said, his manner relaxed and smiling, though inwardly tense. Don’t rush, don’t panic, don’t alarm the quarry!

"Please, go ahead?" Chen Mu looked at him with curiosity.

"We have a devotee visiting today, hoping to take home a precious scripture for worship. I only realized this morning that the last pre-copied scripture has an extra ink blot," Chengyi explained, looking troubled. "The devotee is a close friend of my master—I dare not be negligent. Then I thought of you. Your calligraphy is graceful and beautiful—could you help by urgently copying a new one?" He looked earnestly at Chen Mu and produced a small gray cloth pouch from his sleeve. "A little scribe’s fee, a token of appreciation."

"No problem, where’s the scripture?" Chen Mu accepted the pouch and agreed readily.

"This scripture is a little special—it’s engraved in the Patriarch’s Hall. You’ll need to bring your writing tools and come with me," Chengyi said apologetically.

"Of course, time is of the essence. Let’s go right away," Chen Mu replied without hesitation, turning to gather his brush, ink, paper, and inkstone.

Inside his wide sleeve, Chengyi’s fist clenched tightly.

It’s done!