Chapter Five: The Crimson Tides
It had been seven days since we sealed the Whispering Grove—seven days of restless nights and half-spoken rumors. By dusk, the village market teemed with color and chatter: red chili peppers drying on wooden racks, fresh fish still glistening with river water, and lacquered lacquerware glinting in the lantern light. But beneath the bustle, I felt watchful eyes. Mothers pulled their children close, and fishermen spat at the ground when I passed.
Master Yan met me at the water's edge. He motioned to a line of crimson lanterns drifting downstream, their flaming hearts bobbing on the current. "Red tides," he said, voice low as he balanced on a flat river rock. "An old omen. When spirits bleed into our world, the lanterns call them back."
I remembered the fishermen's whispered warnings: that the river once ran clear, but now held an unsettling crimson hue after each funeral. Their nets returned bloody, the fish's scales flecked with rust. Tonight, the glow of the lanterns made the water look like molten copper.
Master Yan knelt beside the river. From his pouch, he produced a small bronze mirror, its back engraved with eight trigrams. He leaned over the lantern-lit ripples and spoke the invoking chant his grandmother had taught me:
> "Reflect the hidden truth, reveal the ghostly wound, show what binds the living to the drowned."
The lanterns drifted closer, converging around the mirror's silver face. Their reflections fractured into dozens of flickering images. I saw the coffin lid from that first funeral, the warped wood of the hidden grave, and the jade figurine's cracked smile. Then the mirror darkened, and I saw my own reflection—eyes shadowed with fear, cheeks hollowed by sleepless nights.
"What does it tell you?" I asked, uneasy.
Master Yan's jaw tightened. He dipped the mirror's edge into the river, sending ripples across its face. "It shows your blood link—the same curse that killed that man so young now tugs at your soul."
A sudden disturbance on the surface: a fish leapt, its body flashed bright crimson. Then something brushed against my ankle—slimy, cold. I knelt, wincing as my fingertips met slick, red-tinged scales.
Master Yan reached into his robe and pulled out a length of fishnet thread, knotting it into a small charm sachet filled with powdered salt and ground pearl. "Salt repels yin," he explained. "Pearl binds souls to water. Wear this."
He fastened the sachet at my belt. "Tonight, you'll try the rod yourself. Find the source of this blood tide."
Under a crescent moon, I stepped onto a makeshift raft: a woven mat of bamboo tied to empty gourds. Master Yan pushed me into the slow current, rod in hand.
"Listen to the hum," he called. "Feel the vein of water and earth."
At first, all I felt was the rocking raft and my heart pounding. Then—a subtle vibration through the rod's tip, like a heartbeat. The lanterns drifted beside me, guiding my path. The wind whispered through the willows:
> Follow the scar in the earth.
I steered toward a narrow cove where the riverbank sloped steeply. There, a line of broken tombstones lay half-submerged. The old village cemetery. The water around them boiled with crimson eddies.
My rod buzzed fiercely. I leaned over, placing my hand on a toppled headstone carved with the name Wei Zheng—my father.
Memories crashed in: my mother's soft crying by the graveside, the mourners' lanterns swirling red above the coffin. I felt a tug at my chest—part sorrow, part rage.
A voice drifted from the bank: "You've come for the lost."
I looked up. A woman stood beneath a willow, hair streaked with moonlight. Her qipao was soaked, her face pale as river foam. "Your father's spirit calls through the water," she said. "But the tide hides more than loss. It hides betrayal."
My breath caught. "Who are you?"
She stepped closer, her eyes rimmed with salt. "I am his widow. But he was never mine."
Ahead, the rod's hum shattered into a high-pitched wail. The raft shuddered. Water churned around the tombstones, and crimson hands clawed at the surface, reaching.
Master Yan's voice cut through the chaos: "The sacrificial rite—the spirits demand justice!"
The woman lifted her chin. "Then you must find the one who broke the binding charm—who tainted our resting place."
I gripped the rod barrel, voice steady despite the trembling. "I will."
Lightning split the sky, lanterns flickered, and a wave of crimson foam washed over the raft.
In that moment, I knew this journey was no longer just about sealing groves or balancing lines. It was about uncovering the hidden sins of the heart—and laying them to rest.