Rumors swept through the city: that day, when Elder Quinn fought the two Wraiths, the Wraiths did not die immediately. Instead, they captured members of Elder Quinn’s funeral procession, using them to threaten him. Forced to take all the blame, Elder Quinn died a wrongful death and became a Wraith himself. Later, Elder Quinn destroyed the two Wraiths and continued to guide Tyson Warren.
As rumors multiplied throughout the city, every street and alley buzzed with discussion. Eventually, even County Hall could not ignore it and began to re-examine the case. My approach was effective: though I did things that frightened those around me, I never harmed them.
Following Elder Quinn’s earlier advice, I visited the homes where he had once performed feng shui. I did as he said, quietly bringing a little luck to their households now and then.
Then I took on the appearance of those who had died atop the city tower, delivering dreams to their loved ones. In those dreams, I told them the truth: they had been killed by Wraiths, and Elder Quinn had avenged them.
Afterwards, I possessed those who had previously been taken over by Wraiths, and went to County Hall claiming to remember nothing of the incident. The memory was gone, and I fell seriously ill.
Finally, I appeared as Elder Quinn in the dreams of County Hall officials, telling them how the false evidence had been prepared, and how certain places had been tampered with. Every day, I kept myself busy.
While doing all this, I told Tyson Warren not to leave the house. I would go to nearby homes to take some food and drink, leave a bit of money, and a note: 'I’ve taken the goods. —Elder Quinn.'
Things began to spiral out of control. County Hall overturned Elder Quinn’s conviction. On a bright morning, officials from County Hall and many of the woman’s followers gathered at Elder Quinn’s residence. I said nothing to Tyson Warren.
A rapid knocking at the door. Tyson Warren stared at the entrance in terror.
"Quinn, what do we do? Hurry, get rid of them—quick!"
Tyson Warren was visibly anxious, but then someone called out.
"Tyson Warren, open the door. Tell Elder Quinn we’re here today to honor him. What happened back then was truly the work of Wraiths—we all wrongly accused Elder Quinn."
Tyson Warren heard the shouting; outside, the crowd was already in an uproar.
The main gate was opened.
Outside, people filled the street, carrying incense and paper offerings. Someone asked about the events of those years. Tyson Warren, overwhelmed, spoke before everyone: the infamous case of the Wraiths terrorizing the city ended with Elder Quinn destroying the Wraiths and taking all the blame.
The morning sunlight was gentle yet blinding. Tyson Warren kept talking—about everything Elder Quinn had done. Elder Quinn never lied; he did it for his funeral team, so the city would be safe from Wraiths. Tyson Warren also explained the truth about the two Wraiths: they were adulterers who, years ago, died under punishment after Elder Quinn reported them. Their resentment brought them back for revenge.
The truth was finally clear. County Hall released all the funeral team members from prison and issued documents to free those who had been exiled.
Gradually, the members of the funeral team returned one by one.
One day, a group arrived atop the mountain—where Elder Quinn had vanished. At the pit Tyson Warren had dug with his bare hands, there lay only a large round stone. Silently, the group began building a grave for Elder Quinn.
But the group was no longer what it once was. They had grown distant. The rest of the funeral team, feeling guilty, only planned to build Quinn a tomb before going their separate ways.
Tyson Warren said nothing. It was clear he still harbored resentment toward the others; on the day Elder Quinn was beheaded, only Tyson was there.
Gradually, every Qingming Festival, people from the city would come to pay respects at Elder Quinn’s grave. His home was restored, and I ceased my disturbances, choosing instead to watch over things.
Months ago, I stopped speaking to Tyson Warren, no matter how much he called or asked. Some said Elder Quinn’s grievances had finally been resolved, and he had gone to reincarnate.
From time to time, people would visit Tyson Warren, bringing him small gifts—most were those whose families had once received Quinn’s help. Quinn never charged much for funerals. County Hall awarded Tyson Warren a sum of money, but he refused to take a single coin.
The dreams continued, but I knew things would improve. Tyson Warren grew day by day, his body becoming strong. He didn’t waste away as he had in childhood, but studied every day, following memories of Elder Quinn, practicing the funeral rites Elder Quinn once taught.
I only knew this was a good beginning. I had turned a nightmare into a dream. Now, all I could do was wait for Elder Quinn to return.
Tyson Warren kept practicing. When he turned sixteen, he opened the main gate and hung a new sign: 'Elder Quinn’s Funeral Service.'
Word spread quickly in the city, and people came to see. They said that if anything happened in their families, they would call on Tyson Warren.
"Funeral procession... lift the coffin..."
Amid the shouts, Tyson Warren stood at the head of the funeral procession, wearing Elder Quinn’s old, tattered Taoist robe, directing the team.
With each funeral, Tyson Warren gradually formed his own funeral team. He worked with such seriousness—stricter and more disciplined than Elder Quinn ever was. He was completely changed.
Just as Elder Quinn once said.
Every year, Tyson Warren visited the place where Elder Quinn disappeared, sharing his thoughts. At twenty-one, Tyson married and had children. Every Qingming Festival, he brought his family to the grave.
One bright afternoon, Tyson Warren brought his wife to Quinn’s grave. After some time, his wife and child left, while Tyson poured a bowl of wine, spilling some on the ground.
"Elder Quinn, maybe you’ve already reincarnated, but I visit you every year. I don’t expect you to speak to me, but at least send me a dream. I want you to see: everything you once said, I’m living it now. I don’t lie or steal anymore—all because of you, Elder Quinn. You know that? I’ve studied many books. For us funeral folk, our job is to help the dead rest peacefully in the next world, to send them off with respect. I’m not as careless as you once were. I still lack real powers, but every funeral is by tradition—no sloppiness. I hear reincarnation isn’t easy; you must still be suffering in hell, Elder Quinn!"
Tyson Warren kept drinking, smiling helplessly and shaking his head.
"Maybe you’ll lose your tongue, Elder Quinn. After all, you were a liar back in the day—ha!"
Slowly, Tyson Warren got drunk. It happened every year: he’d pass out in front of the grave, only waking at sunset to walk home down the mountain.
Suddenly, I widened my eyes. A wisp of white mist floated up from the grave. Instantly, I grew alert, watching everything around me.
It was Elder Quinn.
I stared wide-eyed as a pale spirit sat atop the grave—Elder Quinn, smiling gently, sat beside Tyson Warren, softly stroking his forehead. Suddenly, Tyson awoke and looked around.
"Elder Quinn, is that you?"
Quinn lifted the cup and took a sip of wine. Tyson Warren laughed with joy, stood up, and patted his chest.
"Elder Quinn, do you see me now? I’ve changed—changed so much I’m even better than you ever were, Elder Quinn..."
I quickly took out a balloon. Instantly, it burst, flooding the scene with light. Tyson Warren laughed, looking at Quinn standing before him.
"You were a liar—I’m not anymore. And all those things you taught me, Elder Quinn, I checked with other Taoists. Most of it was made up, wasn’t it, Elder Quinn? You old liar."
"Thank you, Zhang Qingyuan."
Elder Quinn turned his head. His appearance slowly changed as everything around was drawn into my purple balloon. When the balloon had swollen enough, darkness fell, and Elder Quinn stood before me.
"The nightmare has become a rare dream. But reality is cruel—nothing like what you see in dreams."
"And what happened next, Tyson Warren?"
Elder Quinn sat cross-legged, his expression sorrowful and grave, shaking his head.
"I don’t know. That day, Tyson Warren was devoured by those two Wraiths right in front of me. After Tyson died, I remembered everything and used the power of darkness to consume those two Wraiths. But by then, I had already returned to the darkness. So many years have passed, and I haven’t even seen Tyson’s spirit."
"Is that so!"
I quietly sat beside Elder Quinn, his face full of sorrow.
"It’s been so many years. Only now do I recall that nightmare. Zhang Qingyuan, if you can, when you return to the world of the living, do me a favor—find Tyson Warren."
I grunted in response.
"If he’s already reincarnated, it might not be possible."
But then I smiled.
"I’ll find him. King Kṣitigarbha should know."
I said nothing more. Scenes kept shifting around us. The funeral director quietly held his head, lost in memories. I didn’t want to disturb him and watched silently from the side.
The true events were cruel. In the dream, Elder Quinn said everything he wanted to say to Tyson Warren. But in reality, Tyson was killed by two Wraiths at just ten years old.
As Elder Quinn’s funeral director in the world of the living, I bore the stigma and quietly returned to the darkness. I don’t know how I spent those years in the dark.
After a while, we both came to. The ritualist smiled nearby.
"What’s wrong? You look so bitter. Are you remembering those old days? Zhang Qingyuan, can you tell me—what did Elder Quinn go through back then?"
I smiled and shook my head.
"He lived through a nightmare."