Chapter 101: Utter Emptiness

In Taoism, there is a technique known as soul projection. For about the duration of an incense stick burning, the practitioner can allow their soul to leave their body. Typically, once the soul departs, the physical body cannot perceive the soul’s thoughts. The power of this technique lies in the soul’s ability to see, hear, and act, with the practitioner fully aware of everything. However, it is immensely dangerous—if anyone disturbs the body during this time, or if the soul fails to return within the allotted period, the practitioner will lose their life.

Those who employ this technique often feel mentally drained for about a week afterward, and some may even fall seriously ill. Since the Maoshan sect’s founder, the Three-Maos True Lord, established this art, its use has been cautious. It is said that in earlier times, Taoist priests could freely traverse between the realms of yin and yang, life and death, but by the present day, very few remain who can wield it.

Before him lay a yellow talisman, inscribed in cinnabar with the birth chart of Cha Wenbin—this was the life talisman. Beside it, a small oil lamp flickered. Lacking proper materials, he had used a small bottle and torn cotton from his clothes for a wick. The talisman was held between Cha Wenbin’s lips, pressed with his tongue to hold his breath. The oil lamp was placed directly beneath the talisman. At the moment the soul returns, the talisman would fall onto the wick, burning the lamp out—a sign of the soul’s successful return.

It was best for the practitioner to have a guardian nearby to prevent disturbance. Cha Wenbin’s life, it seemed, had been entrusted to Fatty.

Seated cross-legged, Cha Wenbin lit an incense stick, inhaled the scent beneath his nose, then took a deep breath. As he chanted, his breath only flowed outward, never inward. His voice was steady:

“A stick of pure incense rises,
The three souls of heaven and earth converge;
The five elements and supreme ultimate accompany me,
The seven spirits leave their sheath to roam;
Supreme Lord Lao, swift as a divine edict!”

With the incantation complete, his eyes closed. The smoke from the incense behaved strangely: instead of drifting upward, tendrils of it wove sinuously into his left nostril, while smoke simultaneously exhaled from his right nostril—a rhythmic cycle of inhalation and exhalation through separate nostrils.

What did Cha Wenbin see upon soul projection?

Confusion. All around was a white mist, dense and boundless, without direction or orientation—no east, west, north, south; no up or down, front or back. It was as if he stood on a cloud, unable to discern the ground beneath. The horizon stretched endlessly, broken only by a solitary coffin adrift in the void, rotating endlessly.

As it spun, the surrounding air currents moved with it. The bottom of the coffin cracked open, revealing a small black spot. The mist whirled rapidly around it, soon forming a tornado-like vortex that tore at the surroundings. The coffin spun faster and faster.

The black spot grew larger, and voices began to ring in Cha Wenbin’s ears—men and women crying, wailing, their heart-wrenching screams chilling the soul.

The spot expanded to the size of a basin, the winds howling fiercely. The force pressed on Cha Wenbin’s soul, compelling him forward. It was as if massive hands pushed firmly against his back, urging him step by step toward the black abyss...

“What’s wrong with him?” Fatty asked Ye Qiu, noticing the sweat pouring from Cha Wenbin’s forehead, his brows furrowed tightly, his jaw clenched hard.

“Something’s wrong. Hurry,” Ye Qiu said, snatching the talisman from Cha Wenbin’s lips and tossing it onto the lamp’s wick. A sudden flame erupted with a “whoosh,” surging toward Cha Wenbin’s face, filling the air with the acrid smell of burning hair.

Startled by the intense heat, Cha Wenbin screamed and jolted upright, frantically patting out the imaginary flames on his body, prompting Fatty to burst into laughter.

“Did you light that?” Fatty asked.

Thinking Cha Wenbin was about to scold him, Fatty quickly denied responsibility: “Not me. That young man lit it.”

Unexpectedly, Cha Wenbin thanked Ye Qiu kindly. “Thank you. If you’d been later, I wouldn’t have made it back.”

Seeing his disheveled state, Ye Qiu felt slightly embarrassed. “I saw you weren’t well, so...”

Cha Wenbin said nothing more. He approached the coffin and said, “Come, let’s push it open together.”

They had expected the coffin to weigh four or five hundred jin at most. Three grown men, one a strongman, should manage it easily. Yet, when they pushed, it felt as if the coffin were glued to the floor—no matter how hard they tried, it did not budge.

In the end, Fatty even used a shovel as a lever, to no avail. The coffin was unusually fused to the ground.

“This is ghostly,” Fatty muttered. “Cha, why do you want to move it?”

“I saw something beneath it.”

“What?”

“Couldn’t make it out, so I want to push it aside.”

Fatty had a sudden idea. “Young man, lend me your knife.”

Ye Qiu hesitated briefly but handed over a black blade. Fatty weighed it in his hand, sighed, “Nice knife. Let me see if I can cut it fast enough!” With a powerful chop, he struck the coffin. A dull “thud” rang out, and his thumb stung sharply as the blade rebounded, nearly slipping from his grasp.

He had used all his strength, hoping to split the coffin since pushing was futile, but the blade only left a tiny nick smaller than a fingernail. Flushed with frustration and ignoring the pain, he raised the knife again, but Ye Qiu grasped his wrist firmly. “Don’t waste your strength.”

Meanwhile, Cha Wenbin inspected the small gap. Unexpectedly, he began climbing inside the coffin. He didn’t stop there—he lay down, shifted position to get comfortable, then poked his head out.

“Hey, you two, help me close the lid,” he called.

Fatty blinked in disbelief. “You’re... what?”

Cha Wenbin smiled, calm and casual. “If you don’t enter the tiger’s den, you won’t catch the tiger cub. Like Ye Qiu said, this tomb was made for the dead. The coffin’s empty—I’ll just pretend it’s prepared for me, and lie in it to feel the grandeur of a wealthy family.”

Fatty stamped his feet. “Get out quick! This is bad luck!”

Cha Wenbin chuckled. “You still believe in that? Don’t worry, this is what I do. Help me close it, then I’ll try it out. Don’t forget to open it for me later, so I don’t suffocate inside.”

With that, Cha Wenbin pulled the coffin lid over himself. Fatty followed suit, but as the lid closed completely, he felt uneasy and hesitated. Nevertheless, Cha Wenbin sealed the last gap.

Ten minutes passed without a sound from inside. Ye Qiu later told me that he and Fatty stood guard the entire time, never once losing focus. After those ten minutes, they both sensed something was wrong—ten minutes was far too long. Fatty knocked on the coffin lid several times.

No response.

Growing anxious, Fatty asked Ye Qiu, “Should we open it?”

Ye Qiu pushed the lid gently; Fatty pulled back sharply. The coffin opened with a “whoosh,” but what greeted them was unimaginable: the coffin was completely empty.

Cha Wenbin was a Taoist, neither a magician nor an illusionist. He could create phenomena beyond ordinary understanding, but he was incapable of performing grand illusions where a person disappears alive and well.

Both men had seen him climb inside. So where was he now? The coffin was bare, not a trace remained.

Fatty searched inside and out, but such a small space—where could he have gone? Yet he was simply gone.

Frustrated, Fatty grabbed Ye Qiu by the collar. “You brought us here! Tell me, where is he? You’ve been playing tricks the whole way, haven’t you?”

Ye Qiu didn’t argue. In this situation, quarrels served no purpose. He said, “It’s a small space. If you don’t believe me, I’ll get in too.”

“Think I’m scared?” Fatty hoisted Ye Qiu and tossed him inside, then slammed the lid down with a bang. Still unsatisfied, he sat atop the coffin.

Fatty sat there for two or three minutes, then realized he needed someone to talk to. Despite everything, he respected Ye Qiu’s abilities. Thinking he might have gone too far in anger, Fatty opened the coffin to apologize.

But the haunting scene repeated: the coffin remained utterly empty.