Chapter Four: The Banquet of Spirits

I recalled the scorched object I had just seen and carefully sorted through all the information it contained. Then, I told Hongye, "That brazier is probably a 'Ghost Festival Bowl.' The so-called collision with the underworld banquet is really just a person running into a malicious spirit while it's receiving offerings from the Ghost Festival Bowl."

Hongye frowned, confused. "The Ghost Festival Bowl? But isn't that a Buddhist ritual vessel used to deliver souls and accumulate merit? How could it be dangerous? Every year, on July fifteenth, the temples hold Ghost Festival ceremonies."

I nodded slightly, correcting her. "It may sound dignified to call it a 'ritual vessel,' but truly, it is nothing more than a 'feeding bowl.' Only the food inside isn't meant for people, it's for hungry ghosts."

"Ah?" Hongye was stunned, fear lingering in her voice. "You're saying that thing is a ghost's feeding bowl? Then Wang Hou, didn't he... smash a ghost's rice bowl?"

I chuckled, assuring her it was not so simple. On this highway, it's hard enough to spot a human shadow, so how could such a ritual vessel suddenly appear? And whoever placed it wasn’t afraid of being hit by a car? What purpose does summoning ghosts serve—traffic control?

As Hongye mentioned, the Ghost Festival Bowl is originally a Buddhist ritual vessel, blessed by high monks, purportedly to deliver hungry ghosts, honor ancestors, increase spiritual power, and accumulate virtue. In the mouths of religious practitioners, it is revered as powerful and radiant.

But if we strip away these dazzling halos, we are left with the startling truth: the Ghost Festival Bowl is simply a food bowl for hungry ghosts. Whether or not hungry ghosts truly exist, I know for certain that this thing is ominous, saturated with negative energy and ill fortune.

According to folk superstition, if someone without sufficient spiritual cultivation uses it and casually places food inside, not only will the ghosts fail to be delivered, but impure things may be attracted, bringing disaster upon themselves.

Such a perilous ritual vessel is, frankly, a double-edged sword. Used well, the whole family is delivered; used poorly, the whole family is doomed.

Because the Ghost Festival Bowl is so dangerous, it is only used in the annual Ghost Festival, led by high monks and collective temple rituals, to deliver souls and pray for blessings. The reason for this is simple: the process is considered perilous, even malevolent, and only those of great virtue dare attempt it. With more monks, the average risk is lower; as they say, "Shared risk, greater strength."

At this point, I shifted the conversation and explained that due to the Ghost Festival Bowl's powerful "ghost-summoning" side effect, some folk "masters" developed a reverse approach.

They creatively turned a device meant for delivering souls into one for finding scapegoats for wandering spirits, using it to harm people on roadsides, riverbanks, or even homes, all for profit.

In short, they transformed the Ghost Festival Bowl into a true "ghost-summoning bowl," a "scapegoat bowl" filled with darkness and misfortune.

What Wang Hou encountered just now was precisely such a ghost-summoning feeding bowl.

When I finished, Hongye appeared restless and uneasy, her expression filled with dread.

Honestly, my intention in saying all this was not to frighten anyone or add to their anxiety—I was in the car too, after all, and talking about such ominous things does me no good.

But facts are facts. Whether you believe or not, my judgment is that we may very well have walked into a trap.

At this moment, Hongye asked, "But... why burn pine nuts and butter in the Ghost Festival Bowl?"

I didn't answer directly, but instead asked her, "I'm curious—how did you know pine nuts were burned in the bowl, since you didn't see it?"

Hongye replied, "It's not hard. When Wang Hou came back, he had the distinctive smell of pine nut shells on him, mingled with the aroma of beef butter. I’ve eaten Western food often, so I’m sensitive to the scent... Don't underestimate women."

"Your sense of smell is remarkable," I praised, then began to explain.

Pine nuts are a homonym for 'sending away a child,' so burning them in the bowl is symbolic of 'sending away one's son.' As for the butter mixed with the pine nuts, it is an indispensable ingredient in any underworld banquet, ghost food, or funeral feast.

"Why must butter be used in underworld banquets?" Hongye asked, puzzled.

I shook my head. "It's not just butter—it's any meat product from cattle. In the past, people believed cattle were spiritually potent and eating their meat was unlucky."

I went on to explain that ancient people thought cattle, among the six domestic animals, labored the most in the fields and absorbed earth energy daily, making them the most saturated with negative energy.

This unique negative energy of cattle is recorded and used in history; certain Daoist sects even employed cattle tears to open 'ghost eyes,' so one could see spirits—using the cattle's innate dark energy.

Perhaps because of this, the underworld is said to include cattle, and over time, the god of cattle transformed into the bull-headed, horse-faced demon officials.

In short, cattle are heavy with negative energy—a 'food' rarely eaten by ordinary folk.

Combining these facts, the burning of cattle products with pine nuts (sending away a child) reveals the ritual's intent.

In my mind, all these doubts lead to one explanation— that woman who kept watching us at the scene of the incident.

Hongye's intuition was correct; she astutely sensed the woman had tampered with the brazier, though I hadn’t paid sufficient attention.

"Oh! I understand now," Hongye exclaimed, enlightened. "The principle of this underworld banquet is much like the Daoist 'curse-breaking ritual.' First, certain foods lure specific restless spirits, but midway through the ritual, someone interrupts the process. As a result, the ghost then attaches itself to the interrupter—a scapegoat."

I truly admired her reasoning.

At this point, everyone understood clearly. Although Hongye and I had directly pointed out why Wang Hou had become afflicted, I suggested we switch vehicles for safety, since one of us might be possessed by a restless ghost.

Later, I simply said, "Given the circumstances, let's not rely on this broken car. Let's find a taxi to my class leader’s house. It might be inconvenient, but much safer."

Besides, Wang Hou's car was so decrepit, I had long wanted to change our 'mount.' Otherwise, we might not reach southern Lu before being rattled to death by it—let alone resolve the white food curse.

But just then, one of us spoke up—a skeptic who had been silent, Ah Si, who began to question me.

Honestly, I admired this little dwarf.

What happened next was astonishing: this modern dwarf managed to stump me, leaving me unable to respond, much less refute.

Ah Si challenged me, saying there are no ghosts in this world! And even if they exist, they're only in people's minds. I only saw one bowl—how could I deduce so much? He used to beg by the roadside and had often eaten offerings left after paper-burning rituals, and nothing ever happened to him.

Finally, Ah Si advised me, "You should study more law, more business, and stop dabbling in these superstitions. It doesn't help you fit into this era."

His words left me speechless. For a long while, I couldn't even bring myself to argue. After all, his words were filled with 'positive energy!' Even if they weren't moving, I admired his fearless ignorance.

As I was at a loss for words, Hongye suddenly stepped in to help.

"Ah Si! Maybe there really are no ghosts in this world, but even ordinary people can go mad if they encounter such an underworld banquet brazier, because the 'food' prepared for ghosts may contain other things..."

Ah Si and I were both curious, "What?"

Hongye didn't answer directly but asked, "What if the ritual fails to summon ghosts? Or the ghosts lack power? Or the people seeking scapegoats don't understand the ritual and are just after dirty money?"

We shook our heads—we had no idea.

Hongye answered herself, "So, just these two ingredients aren't enough. Those 'folk masters' add another thing—if you breathe it in, you’re doomed, possessed or not."

"What is it?" we pressed.

Hongye, still shaken, finally spat out, "Most likely a hallucinogen!"

"A hallucinogen? If someone inhales the fumes, then..." I suddenly understood.

Hongye nodded, glancing at the groaning Wang Hou in the rearview mirror.

Everything was clear now.

Regretfully, I concluded, "These so-called ghost-summoning sorcerers are less soul-summoners than chemists. If someone dies, no one can trace it to them. I’ve heard in the countryside, some 'underground cults' use hallucinogens and drugs to kill and intimidate, inciting crime."

Hongye and I fell silent. In my mind's eye, I saw a devastated mother, unable to sleep after her son died unexpectedly on the highway. Her maternal love was quickly exploited by a charlatan, who claimed that ghosts killed on the road could not reincarnate unless they found a substitute.

And that sorcerer always claimed to know a ritual for finding a scapegoat through an underworld banquet.

Desperate for her son's soul to find peace, the mother paid dearly for the ritual, never knowing it was all a sham. The true cause of Wang Hou's possession was not her son, but the hallucinogen mixed with the pine nuts.

She paid for peace of mind, nothing more.

As I was lost in thought, Hongye suddenly asked, "Lao Tian, how do you know all these strange things? I remember you’re not a monk or Daoist priest—just... a chef, right?"

I paused, not directly revealing my connection to underworld foods, but replied, "Butter and pine nuts are a dish, after all—only, it's meant for the dead."

As Hongye and I spoke softly, our car finally pulled into the highway service station.

Arriving, we exited the van as if fleeing from a plague, each of us feeling deeply uneasy about the vehicle, much less wanting to ride in it again.

Once out of that broken van, I felt a huge weight lift from my chest—the oppressive feeling had faded greatly.

I turned and patted Wang Hou’s battered van, solemnly waving it goodbye: "Farewell, Sir Rider! Farewell, fleeting youth!"

As I spoke, I suddenly sensed a pair of resentful eyes flashing in the van’s rearview mirror.