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Digging into the earth, how significant could that really be?

Even if you dig wide, the reality is that there’s barely enough space for your body to lie down, and digging deep doesn’t mean it would match the house built on the land above.

The thick smell of dirt pales in comparison to the fresh scent of greenery, and the insects that greet you resemble the shapes of the character for ‘shadow,’ bustling with countless legs, thus sharing the damp nature of shadows.

What glory can there be for those who must crawl upon the ground with no winged birds above? In this place, where even the sky struggles to be a roof overhead, is it not enough that only the dead can assemble a coffin as a space for their rests?

For the poor, even a stone coffin is a luxury, let alone a wooden one.

Wrapping oneself in old rags and lying in the earth might even be a blessing.

So how can one expect to have a decent grave?

Ah! Even if one tucks a dark night over themselves like a blanket, without a grave to protect from the wind and rain, what difference would it be from sleeping rough? Without a coffin to shield the body, it is akin to having no bed and doing no more than rolling a rag over oneself as they wander the streets. And without enough coins to burn for the afterlife, what difference is there from being poor in life?

How persistent is poverty.

Even in death, one cannot easily shed the shackles of poverty.

The poor, who cannot even secure a burial spot, and the powerful, who fashion a mountain into a tomb, flaunting their wealth and power even in death—

Seeing this, can anyone claim that the world is fair?

But what can be done?

The giant’s gait leaves massive footprints, and thus it’s only natural that the place where the giant falls becomes a mountain range. How could the common folk, who dare only to turn to dust when they die, dare to complain or covet it?

If the powerful are giants, then the people are mere dust.

Thus, the people are not even human.

Those who can only become dust in death are nothing but pests, aren’t they?

But this is exactly why the magic they perform must possess power.

Those close to the earth, digging and burrowing, beings closer to the ground than the sky, are like insects tied to the dirt and can conduct rituals.

“On the date of Mo month, day of Mo, we seek to bury the dead, oh Lord Yama, please look upon us.”

Before them lies an altar.

The heavens are round and the earth is square by nature.

The altar they crafted lacks any trace of the circle that signifies the heavens, filled instead with squares and octagons.

It’s as if the ground was dug out squarely to accommodate square coffins, and a dirt mound rising in an octagonal shape was assembled atop it, with a square plate laid on top, and red and black ink drawn on it multiple times in an overlapping octagon pattern.

Then, a single incense stick meant for the ritual is lit, and hot blood steaming is placed in a vessel before the incense.

“Though we share no blood ties, how could the ties of the world exist only in lineage? The bond between teacher and student holds no less strength than that of father and child, and the depths of favors and resentments are engraved in bone rather than flesh; how could the dead dare to be forgotten? Oh great king, please recognize our ritual of connection and look upon us with favor.”

“Please look upon us with favor.”

The assembled poor gather as though performing a rite.

Dusty and unkempt, their appearance was lackluster, yet their eyes shone brighter than ever.

Like will-o’-the-wisps that dance alone in the dark night, their gazes sparkled, and their once-hunched backs were now straightened. However, the tremble of their bodies was likely due to a mix of anticipation and anxiety…

The ritual of magic.

No matter how untrained one is, can they truly be ignorant of the ways of magic?

They understand.

If only they know the way, even the ignorant can conjure bizarre occurrences through magic, and they also know that they must pay an unbearably great cost.

And yet, the grim sight of the ‘altar’ before them—

The blood rising in plumes brings an indescribable sense of foreboding, and the iron scent wafting around this place seems to urge them to stop the ritual immediately. Anyone not devoid of understanding would recognize that to carry out a ritual before them, one must pay a substantial price.

Not yet.

It’s not too late.

Though the altar has been made, the ritual has yet to be conducted; they have not reached the point of no return.

All I need to do is say I am afraid, that I will live through this hard life regardless.

The accumulated anger and frustrations are things I can suppress; rather than paying a cost whose worth I cannot even gauge, I’d rather continue to live. Speaking such words, I can either turn my back and leave, or I can wait until others finish the ritual and then swear not to speak a word about it…

I can go back…

“….”

“….”

“….”

Indeed.

Just a slight blush to the face, a little loss of face; that is all it would take.

How could someone of no great stature find their face to be of any great value to those people?

It’s probably not much different from tussling with other workers or shouting out at them while doing day labor…

“….”

“….”

“….”

Yet no one moves.

No one turns away.

They all silently agree.

No matter the cost, we will perform the ritual.

They know their bodies tremble with fear, yet still they insist on going through with this.

Without venting their anger in this way, it truly feels like they would die; thus, they simply cannot ignore this opportunity.

They scream out in silence.

Thus, at the very last moment before everything begins, the point of return, the poor stepped forward.

“Great Yama, we declare: The deceased has fulfilled their allotted lifespan as recorded on the ledger of Mo month, on the day of Mo, and now, must meet with the dreadful ones, Yama Xie Bian and Yama Fan Wu Jiu to be guided into the afterlife.”

What fear could exist for those who have made up their minds to cross the line?

They began to act without hesitation in ways even more befitting of a sinister cult.

Taking out cheap dolls and brushes bought from the streets, they placed them on the altar, dipping the brushes in the steaming blood and soaking them thoroughly. They began inscribing letters on the dolls, with the surnames and names not belonging to one person but many, all completely unrelated to anyone present.

“Yama of the Dead speaks: ‘We are in pursuit of you,’ binding the body with chains and shackles, dragging the deceased into the afterlife for judgment, and the spirit descends below in torment while the Baek disperses in every direction, beyond recognition.”

“It is only right that the soul returns to the heavens and the Baek to the earth. How could there be any deviation? The Baek has been torn and scattered, creating pain, yet it is only following the principles of nature. The Baek has not yet ascended to the heavens, but its nature is light, so it will inevitably return to heaven; the mercy of the great king is as vast as the rivers and seas.”

The poor wrap the dolls inscribed with names tightly in cloth, and place them into the small pit they had previously dug.

As if actually conducting a funeral.

Yet the words that leave their mouths strayed far from any formality.

Typically, during funerals, one hopes that the deceased may go to a good place; however, what leaves their lips is that the one buried now is an evil person, bound by the chains of Black Wuchang and taken with shackles, their spirit having fallen into hell.

Not only that, but it is not even a matter of wishing for them to fall into hell; they openly declare, “It has already happened.”

This isn’t formality—it’s a curse.

“The place the deceased has fallen to is the eighteenth level, which is known as the Eighteen Layers of Hell. The deeper one goes, the wider it is; the higher one goes, the narrower it becomes, so is it easy to climb? Even if the spirit is light, how can it reach the heaviness of the earth? How strong the longing of the deceased for their homeland may be, how can it influence the severity of judgment?”

“Yet we humbly beseech the great king with our offering: may the deceased not suffer alone.”

“Great king, we humbly beseech you with our offering: may the deceased not suffer alone.”

The poor, while pouring curses from their mouths, acted with utmost politeness, and in the parts they chanted, it truly felt as if they had rehearsed, speaking in unison as if conducting the funeral of a truly precious individual.

And then they bowed once, twice.

“Let those who wish to accompany the deceased in death be buried alongside them, for we beseech you, great Yama, to look upon these souls!”

 

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