The old folks in our village called it the General's Temple, though no one could tell you which general it was named after. Our remote mountain valley wasn't exactly known for producing military heroes. With about a hundred households—most transplants from other regions—we had little connection to the original inhabitants who were reportedly wiped out during the Taiping Rebellion. The temple's origins remained a mystery, but since it wasn't in anybody's way, people just accepted its presence like an old, slightly unsettling neighbor.
Kids in the countryside have simple pleasures. We climbed trees for bird nests, waded through streams hunting for fish, and played endless games of hide-and-seek. I'd always been the fearless type—the kid who'd take any dare. My best friend Li Yi (born just one day after me) was skinny as a stick, which earned him the nickname "Monkey."
Monkey and I once decided to check out the General's Temple. The place had this weird smell—kind of like old books left in a damp basement. If you've ever stepped into an abandoned funeral home, you know the smell I'm talking about. Back then, I was weirdly fascinated by it, determined to track down its source.
One afternoon, we took Little Hongxia along with us—she was a year younger and easy to manipulate. Let's be honest: Monkey and I were little devils. That day we'd convinced Hongxia to play "doctor" with us.
You can probably guess the game. Monkey and I would take turns being the doctor, with Hongxia as our patient. We were too young to understand anything about sex—we just knew girls peed differently than boys and were curious why. This "examination" game was half innocent play, half childish investigation.
Knowing adults would flip out if they caught us, we sneaked behind the temple where no one could see. We bribed Hongxia with a glass marble—her weakness—and she agreed to be the patient while I played doctor and Monkey observed. Just as I was about to pull down her pants, we heard her mother's voice explode like a thunderclap:
"What are you little brats doing back there?! You goddamn troublemakers—I'm coming to teach you a lesson!"
Before I could clap my hand over Hongxia's mouth, she betrayed us instantly: "Mom, they're trying to take off my pants to play doctor!"
Pure terror shot through us. We spun around looking for escape, but there was nothing but stone walls surrounding us. We were trapped like rats. As Hongxia's mother's footsteps pounded closer, Monkey spotted our salvation:
"Quick! There's a hole here—crawl in!"
I turned to see a gap at the bottom of the temple's outer wall, just big enough for a six-year-old to squeeze through. We dove in like our lives depended on it.
By the time we made it inside, Hongxia's mom had arrived outside, cursing us as "little perverts" while dragging her daughter away. Monkey and I sat frozen on the dusty floor, barely breathing. We couldn't leave anytime soon—we'd have to pass Hongxia's house to get home. Monkey suggested waiting until dark. It was around 4 PM, and rural families ate dinner early, so her mom had probably been looking for her for the evening meal.
Once the coast was clear, we suddenly realized where we were—inside the forbidden temple itself. While we'd been focused on escape, we hadn't noticed our surroundings. Looking up, I saw walls blackened with ancient soot. The ceiling featured elaborate wooden carvings of Taoist symbols: the Tai Chi, Eight Trigrams, gourds, and cranes. The massive doors were secured from outside with a large copper lock. I'd never seen inside before—no one had.
The walls were covered with murals, though most were too damaged to make out. Only the right wall's painting remained somewhat visible—an old man with a flowing beard holding a whisk brush. Even I recognized him: the Celestial Lord Lao Tzu!
So the General's Temple wasn't a military shrine at all—it was a Daoist temple!
What really sent chills down our spines was what sat in the center: a reddish-brown coffin covered in thick dust. The musty smell was overwhelming here. Despite some light filtering through cracks in the roof, the place felt suffocating. Even with my famous bravery, this was too much. Monkey immediately bolted, squeezing back through our entry hole.
As I turned to follow, something caught my eye—strange patterns on one smoke-blackened wall. They looked like text or symbols, but not like any writing I'd seen before. I couldn't look away. Though I hadn't started school yet and couldn't read, those mysterious markings seemed to pull at me, draining my thoughts until my mind went completely blank.
Monkey's panicked voice outside snapped me back to reality. I took one last glance at the coffin and crawled out. He asked why I'd stayed so long—he'd thought a ghost had gotten me!
"Was I really in there that long?" I asked.
Monkey pointed at the horizon. The sun was already setting. Somehow, I'd lost track of nearly thirty minutes while staring at that wall.
We passed Hongxia's house on our way home, enduring her mother's curses about "shameless little perverts," but I barely registered her words. My mind was filled with what I'd seen—those strange symbols, the mural, that massive coffin. Adults had always warned us to stay away from the temple, but when we asked why, they'd just say, "Don't ask questions, just stay away."
What puzzled me most was why everyone called it the General's Temple when it was clearly a Daoist shrine. Before splitting up, I made Monkey promise not to tell anyone where we'd been. We sealed it with a pinky swear and headed home.
Nothing seemed unusual when I got back. Mom figured I'd been out playing and didn't ask questions. But at dinner time, there was a knock at the door—Hongxia's mother had arrived. One look at her face and I knew I was toast.
She didn't hold back, telling my mom exactly what Monkey and I had tried to do with her precious daughter. I wanted to protest that her pants were still on when we got caught—but kept quiet. Years later, I learned that Monkey eventually did succeed in getting Hongxia's pants off, but that's another story entirely.
Mom apologized profusely while twisting my ear hard enough to make my eyes water. I feared my mother more than any ghost. She had a three-tier punishment system: ear-twisting for minor offenses, bamboo switches across the backside for intermediate crimes, and kneeling on the hard floor for serious transgressions. This situation would likely earn me the full trinity. Sure enough, after our visitor left, Mom dragged me up by my ear and forced me to kneel on the cold floor. I didn't dare resist—that would only add the bamboo switch to my sentence. She didn't even look at me, just warned me to never go near that temple again. Eventually Grandpa intervened, letting me stand up.
Grandpa always had a soft spot for me. During those lean years when food was scarce, he'd secretly slip me treats or save the best bits of meat for my bowl. As he massaged my numb knees, I asked him why the temple was off-limits.
His voice dropped to a whisper. "It's haunted, boy. Years ago, people tried to burn it down, but only that main hall survived. The man who led the arson attempt was later found hanging from the rafters—killed himself, they say. Since then, the village has kept those doors locked tight."
I asked whose coffin was inside, but the moment I mentioned it, Grandpa's face changed. He became evasive and quickly changed the subject.
A few days later, I woke up covered in a red rash. By nightfall, I had a raging fever, vomiting, and diarrhea. Mom rushed me to the hospital where doctors diagnosed a viral infection, but despite their treatments, I got worse instead of better. Already a skinny kid, I became a walking skeleton, constantly itching and breaking skin whenever I scratched. We tried several hospitals, but nothing helped. When Grandpa saw my deteriorating condition, he suggested Mom consult a "spiritual person," but my mother—a committed atheist—flatly refused. Finally, Grandpa took matters into his own hands and secretly brought in a local shaman.
This "shaman" was actually just a bun seller who dabbled in feng shui readings on the side. He managed to fool most of the village elders with his act, but I'm not sure he believed his own nonsense.
After examining me with much theatrical humming and hawing, he declared our house was missing spiritual protection—a ghost had frightened me, and we needed to correct the imbalance. The missing element? A "central hanging" in our main hall.
In rural homes, the central room (what city folks would call a living room) traditionally displayed a painting or calligraphy piece on the main wall—sometimes Chairman Mao's portrait, sometimes deities or landscapes, paired with poetic couplets. This "central hanging" served as a declaration that living people occupied the house, warning wandering spirits to keep their distance. Our main hall had just been freshly whitewashed, so we hadn't hung anything yet.
The shaman spoke with such conviction that even my skeptical mother wavered. "What should we do?" she asked. After pocketing a twenty-yuan red envelope, he produced a talisman, instructing her to burn it, mix the ashes with water, and have me drink it.
I later learned this was supposed to be a Celestial Master talisman, but his version was just an empty shell—all form, no substance, missing the crucial seal that would activate its power. After drinking that ashy water, my stomach cramped violently. I began convulsing and was rushed back to the hospital for emergency treatment. I barely survived.
The fake shaman was so terrified of my mother's wrath that he disappeared from his bun shop for days. He sent back the red envelope through a third party and never practiced his side hustle again. This incident nearly caused a permanent rift between my mother and grandfather.
But my condition didn't improve in the hospital. Eventually, I slipped into a coma, just like my aunt had years before. Doctors were baffled, despite transferring me between several hospitals. When my grandmother learned about my illness, she suggested consulting Zha Wenbin—a name that made my mother's jaw tighten. Mom initially refused, but with no other options left, she finally sent my father to find him. Though she knew Wenbin had helped my aunt years ago, she remained deeply skeptical about such matters.
When Wenbin arrived, I had already been brought home. After asking about my symptoms, he began inquiring where I'd been playing recently. For some reason, I immediately thought of the temple but had been too afraid of punishment to tell anyone.
With this stranger, though, I felt strangely at ease. I told him everything—about entering the temple and what I'd seen inside. When Grandpa heard this, he nearly tumbled from his chair, muttering repeatedly, "My poor child, you've brought this on yourself."
Wenbin studied me carefully. "This is unusual," he said. "Your affliction isn't a common spiritual influence. I can't fully see through it yet." He explained he'd need to visit the temple himself to understand what was happening. When he heard about the fake shaman's talisman water, he shook his head in disgust.
"Those are dangerous frauds," he explained. "Talismans without proper seals don't just lack power—they actively anger spiritual entities. That's why your condition worsened." This revelation rekindled my mother's fury, almost driving her to hunt down the bun seller and demolish his shop.
That night, Wenbin stayed at our house. Strangely, it was the most peaceful sleep I'd had since falling ill.
The rest of what happened was told to me later by my mother:
Early the next morning, my father took Wenbin to the General's Temple. When they arrived, Wenbin stepped back, his face grave.
"There's definitely something wrong here," he said. "I never expected to find such a thing in this place!" When my father asked what was wrong, Wenbin didn't answer directly.
Instead, he asked if my father knew anything about the temple's history. My father shook his head.
Studying the weathered walls, Wenbin sighed, "This probably isn't a general's temple at all! It's a Daoist temple, but not of the righteous path—it belongs to a corrupted tradition!"
He asked my father to gather help to open the main hall doors while he returned home to prepare some items. Back at our house, Wenbin began explaining to my father what they were dealing with.
Who exactly was Zha Wenbin? To understand, you need to know a bit about Daoism in China.
Modern Daoism consists of three main sects: Zhengyi Dao, Quanzhen Dao, and Miaozhen Dao. Among these, the Maoshan sect has become famous through TV shows and novels.
The Maoshan sect has real historical significance. Founded during the Southern Qi and Liang dynasties by the Daoist master Tao Hongjing, it took its name from Mount Mao where Tao practiced and honored the Three Mao Immortals as founding deities. The sect studied ancient scriptures like the Shangqing and Lingbao texts, worshipping various celestial beings including the Celestial Lord Lao Tzu. Their practices included meditation, scripture reading, fasting techniques, and purification rituals.
During the Northern Song Dynasty, the Maoshan sect became one of Daoism's three major talismanic schools, alongside the Longhushan and Gezaoshan traditions. Eventually, after the Yuan Dynasty, it merged into what became today's Zhengyi Dao.
The lineage went from Tao Hongjing to Master Zang Jin, who once accepted a lay disciple named Ling Zhengyang. For unknown reasons, Ling was later expelled from the mountain, but not before learning many Daoist secrets. Ling spent his life cultivating these practices and founded a branch called Tianzheng Dao (the Way of Righteous Heaven). This tradition maintained extreme secrecy, passing knowledge from one disciple to the next. By Wenbin's time, he represented the 27th generation, though many teachings had been lost through centuries of turmoil. Wenbin's master had passed to him only some Daoist methods, texts, the sect's master seal, and a special weapon called the Seven Stars Sword before dying.
Technically, Wenbin's lineage traced back to the Maoshan tradition, though as an offshoot branch. The seal and sword were allegedly crafted by Master Zang Jin himself and given to Ling Zhengyang upon his expulsion—powerful symbols passed down through generations.
During the Cultural Revolution, when traditions were condemned as superstition, Wenbin's master was labeled a "feudal element" and nearly starved to death in a makeshift prison. Wenbin's father, a simple cowherd, felt sorry for the old man and secretly brought him food. When discovered, he was accused of supporting superstition, publicly humiliated, and beaten to death for refusing to denounce his actions. Wenbin's mother, unable to bear the shame and gossip, soon followed her husband to the grave, leaving young Wenbin an orphan. After his release, the old Daoist took in the boy as his disciple.
Wenbin showed remarkable talent and progressed quickly, but his master died before completing his training, leaving behind only some handwritten texts that had survived the revolution, along with the sect's seal and sword hidden in a cowshed roof. Wenbin studied these in secret, unable to fully understand many techniques without proper guidance.
The orthodox Maoshan sect within the Zhengyi tradition had its own complicated history. Common people viewed Mount Mao as a sacred pilgrimage site, while practitioners sought knowledge there. Interestingly, at the height of Maoshan's popularity, another tradition from the mountain's southern region also began calling itself "Maoshan" (sometimes written differently in Chinese). They worshipped the Celestial Lord Lao Tzu under the guidance of a figure called "Maoshan Law Master" Li Laojun, also known as "Cypress Master Laojun." Those familiar with mystical practices might know of "Saint Lord Zhao Hou" (sometimes called "General Zhao Hou"), who in folklore was the son-in-law of this Maoshan founder.
This sect generally practiced orthodox healing methods—stopping bleeding, healing wounds, creating talismans, and warding off evil. However, they were known for certain controversial "dark arts": dream manipulation spells, curses to end family bloodlines, and illusion techniques. The "soul transfer" ability often mentioned in novels originated from this tradition. They also reportedly could summon wild animals and snakes to attack enemies. Another practice was "raising little ghosts"—a technique often sensationalized in Hong Kong films involving corpse oil and reanimation, though the actual practices were entirely different from popular depictions.
The "Maoshan" tradition that spread throughout southern China—places like Guangdong, Guangxi, Jiangxi, Zhejiang, Fujian, and Hong Kong—actually had nothing to do with the original Maoshan tradition. Instead, it evolved from various splinter groups of the White Lotus Society during the Qing Dynasty.
The White Lotus Society conjures images of rebellion and dark magic, but by the Qing era, most members had gone underground. They rarely participated in political activities anymore, with many branches evolving into straightforward spiritual practices.
Among these offshoots, the "Blue Lotus Sect" was particularly skilled in magical arts. Their leaders mastered the ancient "Qimen Dunjia" divination system and various transformation techniques. Practitioners would create talismans dissolved in water with specific chants to heal the sick and repel evil spirits—services that earned them respect among common folk. Their specialty was a possession technique called "divine boxing." The ritual was surprisingly simple: with just clear water, burning sandalwood, and a talisman drawn over water while chanting, the practitioner would drink the mixture and become possessed by a spirit that enabled extraordinary martial abilities. This "Shaolin Divine Strike" could be learned by both men and women, which explains why some modern "Maoshan" sects still practice this skill.
If you look at ritual altar diagrams in southern China, you'll see references to the "Shaolin Patriarch" or "Shaolin Blue Sect Master"—these aren't monks from the famous Shaolin Temple in Henan, but founders of this specific sect! Later diagrams simplified this to "True Master of Shaolin," which, alongside "True Master of White Lotus," clearly reveals their White Lotus Society roots.
Since the White Lotus name attracted unwanted attention from imperial authorities, they rebranded themselves as "Maoshan." Why? Simply because a historical White Lotus leader was named "Mao Ziyuan," and the shared character created a convenient connection while obscuring their true origins.
Another branch claimed a bizarre founder: a monk named Ball who was supposedly born from a floating egg. This Ball monk's story gets even stranger—he allegedly learned magical techniques from "Master Yuan" of Yunmeng Mountain, who was actually a white ape. This mystical white ape (the same one from the famous "White Ape Stealing Peaches" legend) guarded a secret text called the "Wish-Fulfilling Manual" that contained supernatural transformation techniques that were remarkably easy to learn.
After passing these secrets to Ball Monk, Master Yuan burned the original text. Armed with this knowledge, Ball Monk came down from the mountain and established his tradition. This explains why most teachings about supernatural transformations in folklore trace back to this particular "Maoshan" branch. How this sect came to adopt the Maoshan name remains unclear, but the connection to Yunmeng Mountain's magical traditions is undeniable.
These various strands formed the complex tapestry of what people today call the Maoshan tradition. Strictly speaking, only the lineage preserved within today's Zhengyi Dao can claim to be the orthodox Maoshan sect. Wenbin's lineage was essentially an illegitimate offshoot, though still connected to Zhengyi Dao through countless historical threads.
As wars ravaged China, Daoism fractured and scattered. Those with genuine understanding of the Dao became increasingly rare. Charlatans with surface knowledge began calling themselves masters, offering feng shui readings and ritual performances. Modern Daoist priests and temples have become little more than tourist attractions and professional services, with almost no one dedicating themselves to true cultivation anymore.
Back to our story. That afternoon, my father grabbed some tools and accompanied Wenbin to the temple. After breaking the heavy copper lock, they pushed open the doors that had been sealed for decades. A wall of musty air hit them so hard they both covered their noses instinctively. Inside, the temple was empty except for that red-lacquered coffin sitting ominously in the center—a chilling sight even in broad daylight.
Wenbin entered first, fearless. When he noticed the wall murals, surprise flashed across his face. After contemplating them for a moment, his attention shifted to the wall covered with those strange symbols—the same ones that had mesmerized me. He stared at that wall for hours, completely transfixed, while my father stood by silently. Only when the sun began to set did Wenbin finally turn and say simply, "Let's go!"
My father didn't press for explanations. Following Wenbin's instructions, he secured the temple again with a new lock. Wenbin handed him a talisman to place on our front door, warning him to keep me from wandering around, then announced he needed to return to his hometown for a few days.
During Wenbin's three-day absence, something remarkable happened—I began to improve. I could eat a little food again. My mother, seeing this change, spent her days praying fervently to Buddha, hoping for a miracle. When Wenbin returned, he first examined me carefully, then motioned for my father to step outside for a private conversation.
According to my father, Wenbin explained that the General's Temple might have two possible origins:
The first possibility came from ancient texts. During his brief trip home, Wenbin had consulted some handwritten manuscripts left by his master and found a passage about "General's Temples." These were special structures built to contain powerful malevolent energies. According to the text, certain generals who killed excessively in battle would be transformed by bloodshed. The text described how "each blade adds wandering souls, one's blood evil increasing threefold" until the general's "malevolent energy becomes like cultivation, seeping into bloodstream, merging with the body," creating a being that "often enters demonic states, difficult for anyone in the world to overcome." Even the emperor's divine authority couldn't control such beings, leading to their execution.
After death, these corrupted generals would be filled with resentment, requiring secret cremation. Sometimes, however, people would steal their remains and bury them in remote mountains, inviting Daoist priests to contain their lingering evil energy. Temples would be built, and Daoists would use "the righteous energy of the Three Pure Ones" and protective carvings of "auspicious beasts" to keep the malevolent force imprisoned.
This meant our temple might have been built during some ancient dynasty to permanently trap a general who had become something inhuman through excessive bloodshed. Since our region had been virtually wiped out during the Taiping Rebellion, all historical records were lost, leaving the general's identity a mystery.
The second theory was even more intriguing: the structure wasn't originally a general's temple at all, but a Daoist shrine likely established by the legendary Ball monk himself. According to Wenbin's feng shui assessment, the site was positioned where two dragon energy lines intersected—a water dragon and a small azure dragon—creating a place of exceptional spiritual power that shouldn't harbor such intense negative energy.
Wenbin theorized that after Ball Monk's death, his sect continued for some time before mysteriously vanishing. Later, during the Taiping Rebellion, after the original villagers were massacred, the Blue Lotus Sect moved in. To avoid government persecution, they claimed to be followers of the Maoshan shamanic tradition under "Saint Lord Zhao Hou" and renamed the place "General's Temple" as cover for their secret activities. Wenbin had spotted traces of the Blue Lotus Sect's emblem—a white lotus flower—faintly visible on one smoke-blackened wall.
What puzzled Wenbin most were those strange symbols that had captivated me. He believed they were written in a special Daoist script incomprehensible to ordinary people but naturally attractive to those with connections to the Dao. He suspected this might actually be part of the legendary "Wish-Fulfilling Manual" from Heaven Palace, though his current spiritual level wasn't sufficient to fully understand it. Nevertheless, merely seeing these writings had dramatically advanced his own cultivation.
After hearing all this, my father remained confused but focused on what mattered most—what was happening to me. Wenbin explained that I showed no signs of being haunted by hungry ghosts (a common spiritual affliction). When he examined me with his Celestial vision, he saw only two clouds above my head—one black, one auspicious—tumbling against each other. The cause remained unclear, requiring further investigation.
"To catch the tiger, one must enter its den," Wenbin declared. He would return to the temple at midnight when yin energy peaked. This time, he came fully prepared—not alone, but with reinforcements. My father recruited two local butchers armed with their slaughtering knives, and since gun control wasn't yet implemented in rural areas, my father brought our hunting rifle.
Before entering, Wenbin drew his Seven Stars Sword and held his master's seal protectively. He led the way while the butchers stood guard outside. My father stayed close behind him. This time, Wenbin ignored the walls and went straight for the coffin, sensing it was the heart of the problem.
Before attempting to open it, Wenbin lit incense as an offering. If the incense burned completely, the coffin wouldn't pose immediate danger; if it extinguished prematurely, the deceased wasn't happy with their intrusion and they should leave immediately.
After lighting the incense and respectfully bowing to the coffin, Wenbin watched as it burned halfway without incident. That night, clouds completely obscured the moon, making everything unnaturally dark. Their only light came from three mining lamps, which somehow seemed inadequate in the small temple—as if the darkness was actively swallowing the light.
Wenbin also lit incense before the wall mural of Celestial Lord Lao Tzu, then began working on the coffin. As a Daoist familiar with funeral rituals, opening a coffin was no more disturbing to him than opening a cabinet. Using a steel chisel, he carefully pried open the tenons sealing the lid. When he tried to move the lid, however, he found it unexpectedly heavy—almost immovable. He called one of the butchers to help, and as they positioned themselves at either end ready to lift, they noticed something alarming—the incense before the Celestial Lord Lao Tzu mural had gone out.
"Not good," Wenbin muttered, signaling the butcher to put down the lid. He checked the incense before the coffin—it was still burning but nearly consumed.
This was puzzling. As a Daoist disciple performing proper rituals, why would the ancestral deity object when the coffin's occupant didn't? Wenbin cautiously approached the mural to investigate.
As he neared it, the silence shattered with an explosive gunshot. In the pitch-black temple at midnight, the sound was deafening. Everyone whirled to see my father, his rifle aimed at the wall where Wenbin had been heading. The shotgun pellets had pockmarked the ancient wall with dozens of holes.
"What happened?" Wenbin demanded.
My father's voice trembled. "There was an old man with a white beard about to touch your head. I saw him clearly—he appeared out of nowhere!"
Wenbin quickly retreated. The butchers, hearing the gunshot, rushed inside. The four men stood frozen as Wenbin pulled out his Luopan compass. The needle spun wildly, confirming some powerful force was influencing their surroundings—yet Wenbin himself, despite his spiritual training, hadn't detected the white-bearded figure.
"Look!" one of the butchers suddenly shouted, pointing at the bullet-riddled wall. Dark red liquid—unmistakably blood—was oozing from the holes. The sight terrified everyone, even Wenbin. As the gunsmoke cleared, the temple filled with an overwhelming stench of blood that made one of the butchers gag despite his professional familiarity with slaughterhouses.
Frowning in determination, Wenbin gripped his tools and approached the wall. The mining lamps cast harsh white light on the weathered surface, illuminating the trickling blood in grotesque detail. My father, despite feeling his legs turn to jelly, loaded a deer slug—the kind guaranteed to kill a 300-pound wild boar at close range—and followed.
Approaching the wall, Wenbin took no chances. He began reciting a powerful Daoist incantation, the Purification of Heaven and Earth Charm:
"Heaven and earth naturally disperse impure energy,
The cavern's profound emptiness shines with primal light,
Eight directional spirits grant me spiritual treasures,
Talismanic commands announce to the Nine Heavens,
Sacred stance of supreme mystery, slaying demons,
Binding evil spirits, saving countless beings,
Central Mountain's divine words, the Primordial Jade Text,
One recitation removes disease and extends life,
Operating through Five Sacred Mountains and Eight Seas,
Demon Kings bow their heads at my command,
Evil impurities scatter, Dao's energy endures forever,
Urgent as the law commands!"
After chanting this three times, the blood stench diminished slightly. Wenbin motioned to the butchers, taking the pry bar they'd brought for the coffin and jamming it into one of the bullet holes. With a forceful push, a section of the brick wall collapsed with a crash. What lay revealed made everyone pale—my father and one of the butchers immediately vomited.
Inside the wall was a human-shaped wax cocoon, with blood flowing from the bullet holes. Why would an ancient temple wall contain such a thing? Could there actually be a person encased inside this waxy shell?
Before they could process this discovery, a sharp "crack-crack" sound of moving wood came from behind them. The wax cocoon, now unsupported, toppled forward with a heavy thud, landing directly at Wenbin's feet. He shouted in alarm and spun around. The coffin lid they'd been unable to move now showed a slight gap, as if something inside was pushing up.
With lightning reflexes, Wenbin performed a "hawk's somersault" technique, launching himself to the coffin and slamming the lid back down. He ordered the butchers to hold it from both ends and instructed them to stab their slaughtering knives through the lid to pin it closed. Then, pulling out an ink-line marker (a tool traditionally used by carpenters), he rapidly snapped a net pattern across the coffin's surface.
According to legend, this ink-line binding technique was invented by Lu Ban, the master carpenter, specifically to prevent corpses from rising from their coffins—a spiritual restraint similar to the mythical immortal-binding rope.
After securing the coffin, Wenbin turned to examine the fallen wax cocoon. Despite the thick coating, they could make out a human form inside. With a grave expression, he signaled everyone to retreat. They locked the temple doors behind them and hurried back to my house.
On the way home, they needed to cross a small bridge. Before stepping onto it, Wenbin produced three protective talismans, giving one to each man with instructions to burn it, dissolve the ashes in water, and drink the mixture immediately upon reaching home. When they finally arrived at our house, Wenbin told my father to inform the village head to report their discovery to the police the next morning.
Then, seemingly untroubled by the night's horrors, he simply went to sleep.
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Chinese Words/Phrases in Chapter 3 The Haunted Temple
Character Names and Titles
1. Zha Wenbin (查文斌) - The Daoist practitioner who assists the narrator's family
2. Li Yi/Monkey (李毅/"猴子") - The narrator's childhood friend
3. Hongxia (红霞) - Young girl from the village
4. Village Chief (村长) - Local community leader mentioned in the story
Daoist Practitioners and Sects
1. Daoist (道士) - Practitioner of Daoism who performs rituals and cultivates spiritual powers
2. Mao Mountain Sect (茅山派) - Famous Daoist sect founded by Tao Hongjing
3. Maoshan (茅山) - Mount Mao, the sacred mountain where the sect originated
4. Three Mao Immortals (三茅真君) - Founding deities of the Maoshan tradition
5. Three Pure Ones (三清) - Highest deities in the Daoist pantheon
6. Celestial Lord Lao Tzu (太上老君) - Important Daoist deity depicted in temple mural
7. True Person (真人) - Title for accomplished Daoist practitioners
8. Zhengyi Dao (正一道) - Orthodox Unity Way, major Daoist sect
9. Quanzhen Dao (全真道) - Complete Reality Way, major Daoist sect
10. Miaozhen Dao (妙真道) - Wonderful Truth Way, Daoist sect
11. Tianzheng Dao (天正道) - Righteous Heaven Way, Wenbin's lineage
12. Ball Monk (弹子和尚) - Legendary Daoist figure also known as Danzi
13. White Lotus Society (白莲教) - Historical religious movement
14. Blue Lotus Sect (青莲教) - Offshoot of White Lotus traditions
Divination Tools and Objects
1. Eight Trigrams bag (八卦包) - Container for divination tools
2. Luopan compass (罗盘) - Feng shui compass used for divination
3. Talismans (符/符咒) - Paper charms with sacred writing used for spiritual protection
4. Cinnabar (朱砂) - Red mineral used in talisman creation
5. Seven Stars Sword (七星剑) - Ritual weapon used by Daoist practitioners
6. Celestial Master talisman (天师符) - Type of Daoist protective charm
Ritual Practices and Techniques
1. Seven Stars pattern (七星步) - Ritual walking pattern based on the Big Dipper
2. "Upside-down rice" (倒头饭) - Funeral offering ritual
3. Ritual Ceremony (法事) - Formal Daoist religious service
4. Soul Locking (锁魂) - Ritual to prevent a soul from wandering
5. Soul Summoning (招魂) - Ritual to call back a wandering soul
6. Dotting the Eyes (点睛) - Ritual to activate talismans or sacred objects
Cultural and Historical References
1. Daoism (道教) - Indigenous Chinese religion and philosophy
2. Yin and Yang (阴阳) - Complementary cosmic forces in Chinese philosophy
3. Five Elements (五行) - System of five phases in Chinese cosmology
4. Tai Chi (太极) - Ancient symbol representing cosmic balance
5. Cultural Revolution (文革) - Political campaign in China (1966-1976)
6. Four Olds (四旧) - Campaign against old customs during Cultural Revolution
7. Taiping Rebellion (太平天国) - Major 19th century uprising in China
8. Feng Shui (风水) - Traditional practice of harmonizing people with their environment
9. Wish-Fulfilling Manual (如意册) - Legendary Daoist text with magical powers
10. Jianghu (江湖) - Term for the world of martial arts practitioners
11. Qimen Dunjia (奇门遁甲) - Ancient divination system
Locations
1. General's Temple (将军庙) - The central haunted location in the story
2. Wuli Village (五里铺) - Village mentioned in the narrative
3. Horse Head Mountain (马头山) - Mountain location in the story
Mythological Beings
1. Ox-Head (牛头) - Underworld messenger in Chinese mythology
2. Horse-Face (马面) - Underworld messenger in Chinese mythology
3. Underworld Messengers (阴差) - Spirits who escort souls to the afterlife
4. King Yan (阎王) - Ruler of the Chinese underworld