"Indeed, we are under the influence of an illusion. However, what puzzles me is that even though that woman has been imprisoned for 30 years, she shouldn't have the ability to create such a vivid hallucination. There must be something else causing this."
Mr. Xian's expression was grave.
"Are you saying that we can't leave this place until we find whatever is causing these illusions?"
Feeling a chill, I glanced nervously around the room. After Mr. Xian's explanation, the joy I initially felt upon entering this place was replaced by unease.
The two of us began to search the area.
After thoroughly investigating, we found nothing but gold and wine.
Looking at my watch, I saw that it was already 10 o'clock. In just over an hour, the fateful moment would arrive. If we couldn't escape by then, our lives would surely end here.
"This can't be right. She doesn't have the power to trap us in this illusion. There must be something in this room. This isn't just an illusion."
Mr. Xian's frustration was evident as he grew increasingly agitated.
My own emotions were far from calm. With the specter of death looming, I was unusually composed. If the situation allowed, I might have lit a cigarette, even though I didn't smoke, just for the sake of dramatics. Then I'd sigh and say, "Life is as lonely as snow."
Wait… the scent?
From the moment we reached the basement, that peculiar aroma had been present. Even within this illusion, the scent persisted. The realization struck me like lightning, and I rushed to Mr. Xian.
"Mr. Xian, I think I've got it! That scent we noticed outside the basement is still here. Doesn't that mean the scent itself might be causing the illusion?"
Mr. Xian, who had been frowning deeply, suddenly had a look of epiphany. Though he had exercised extreme caution upon entering, he had overlooked this persistent aroma. Now, the realization hit home.
"Sometimes, I'm surprised you're not completely useless, Zunxi," Mr. Xian quipped.
He took a compass-like device from his backpack. In the dim light, the sound of the compass needle spinning was the only thing audible. Suddenly, the needle stopped.
Mr. Xian had found the flaw in the illusion. Before I could react, he walked to a corner and retrieved a small vial from his bag. He let a single drop fall to the floor. Instantly, the golden treasures and wine vanished, replaced by two black, ominous coffins of different sizes.
A chill coursed through me as I stared at the scene. I had seen coffins in books and movies, but witnessing them in such a sinister setting was overwhelming. Instinctively, I moved to stand behind Mr. Xian.
"No wonder he's accumulated such resentment over 30 years. It's a mother-and-child curse," Mr. Xian muttered, carefully observing the coffins but refraining from approaching.
"Mr. Xian, what's a mother-and-child curse?"
I prided myself on being a good apprentice. When in doubt, I asked.
"Didn't I give you books to read? Spend less time daydreaming and more time studying. What you learn might save your life someday," Mr. Xian said, circling behind the coffins. He examined something with a "just as I suspected" expression. Unable to resist, I peeked behind him.
What I saw was beyond anything I'd imagined. Alongside the two coffins lay a pile of white bones. Even more astonishing were the tiny white flowers growing from the bones. Unlike the red of hell's blooms, these flowers were translucent white, a sight I had never seen before.
"What's going on here? How can flowers grow from bones?"
To my surprise, Mr. Xian's earlier irritation was replaced by a look of pity. In a solemn tone, he recounted the story of these blossoming white bones.
After hearing the tale, my worldview was forever altered. I had always believed that death reduced people to mere bones. Yet I now understood that a life filled with immense suffering could lead to flowers sprouting from their remains. These fragrant blooms silently exacted vengeance on those who wronged the deceased, continuing until all karmic debts were repaid.
In the past, I would have scoffed at such tales. How could the dead avenge themselves? Yet I now grasped the Buddhist concept of karmic cycles: retribution may come late, but it never misses.
"So, are you saying the ghost woman was pregnant when she died? And the Xu couple not only killed her but also caused her unborn child to perish, intensifying her resentment? After all these years, her hatred remains undiminished. She refuses reincarnation and insists on taking the Xu couple's lives?"
For once, Mr. Xian didn't refute my deduction. He nodded in agreement.
"That's why you should never blindly trust others. Always retain some skepticism, even with me. Who knows? One day I might want to take your life," he said with a wry smile.
"Please don't joke about that," I replied hastily.
Mr. Xian then took out two yellow talismans, preparing to stick them onto the coffins. Just then, a chilling wind blew through, and before I could react, an unseen force hurled me backward like a severed kite. I crashed into a wall, leaving me dazed.
When I looked up, I saw a woman with impossibly long hair gripping Mr. Xian's throat. No one had anticipated this sudden attack. Struggling, Mr. Xian reached toward the smaller coffin, attempting to place the talisman on it.
Summoning courage from who knows where, I grabbed a stick nearby and charged at the ghost. The stick, brittle from years of neglect, snapped in half as it struck her head.
The ghost turned to face me, her hollow eyes locking onto mine. Instinctively, I stumbled back several steps, trembling as I stared at her.