"Ai ya! If I'd known earlier, I would've asked you to buy paper offering instead!" Aunt Chen slapped her thigh in frustration. "There's no proper kind left in town. Business at the restaurant's been picking up again—I haven't had time to make any myself!"
"Mom, we can just ask Miaozhu to buy some for us during the New Year! What we got isn't so bad—look how fancy it is! Paying respects is about the sentiment, anyway. As long as the intention is there, it's enough," Chen Shuanghe said.
She was, after all, a staunch believer in scientific socialism. What use did she have for superstitions?
"Don't even get me started on this! I told you to look online for handmade, hole-punched yellow paper money, and you bring back this stack of junk! I swear, the nightmares I've been having lately—dreaming the house was flooded—must be because your dad's upset about the lousy paper money you bought. When he was alive, he always went to a master craftsman for ancestral offerings," Chen's mother grumbled.
"The internet doesn't have everything!" Chen Shuanghe sighed. "I looked, but I couldn't find any!"
Song Miaozhu peeked over and nearly laughed. No wonder Uncle Chen had looked so shabby last time—his "money" was just gaudy, mass-printed hell notes. Poor guy probably couldn't even keep up with the underworld's latest trends. She felt a bit sorry for Uncle Chen.
Too bad paper money could be sold but not freely given. These paper ingots were meant for her own family's graves, so she couldn't spare too many. Still, she could at least burn some for Uncle Chen while accompanying Chen's mother and daughter.
After scolding Shuanghe a while longer, Aunt Chen finally relented. "Alright, let's go. At the end of the day, he's your father—he won't hold it against you."
After a bumpy forty-minute ride in a small van, they arrived near Yong'an Cemetery.
Getting out, Miaozhu bought several fresh flower bundles from a roadside stall to use for the Qingming offering. At least she didn't have any deceased relatives competing in the Underworld Flower Festival, so simple flowers would suffice.
For Qingming offerings, the best were those made by skilled paper artisans, followed by handmade paper flowers from living relatives. If neither was available, real flowers would do—though they lacked the spiritual weight to carry memories to the underworld, rendering them purely decorative.
It was like comparing fireworks to a single firecracker in the dark. A firecracker might not be dazzling, but at least it made a sound. Machine-pressed paper flowers? They were utterly silent—burn one, and the ghost might only receive a dim, lifeless petal. Chen's family had brought machine-made offerings from town.
Song Miaozhu didn't comment. Whether machine-made or real flowers, neither stood a chance at the Fengdu Qingming Flower Festival.
At this point, Qingming offerings were mostly for show—so it didn't matter what kind they were.
After centuries of the festival, ghosts no longer relied solely on offerings from the living. Many saved up their underworld currency to buy their own, like the old official-robed ghost from last night.
In Fengdu, only Anshou Hall had the complete legacy of both spiritual and underworld paper crafts—but plenty of ghost shops sold underworld paper offerings.
Throughout history, so many artisans had worked in funeral rites—if they were skilled in life, they could still make a living after death, crafting underworld goods. But trying to learn after death? Impossible. No ghost could produce graded paper offerings.
Entering the cemetery and climbing the hill, they passed rows of graves already adorned with various Qingming offerings or fresh flowers. Yet as Song Miaozhu scanned the area, not a single one was of notable quality.
Perhaps because it was daytime, there were no visible ghosts. Still, the presence of yin energy—uncommon in the living world—was stronger here, especially around the gravestones.
If she looked closely, she could just make out faint, flickering silhouettes.
"Ah, so ghosts are here—just too weak to manifest in daylight."
She followed Aunt Chen and Shuanghe to Uncle Chen's grave. Though Yong'an Cemetery only held cremated remains, it honored tradition: each plot had a space for burning paper money and a small area behind the tombstone for Qingming offerings.
"Auntie, let me help," Song Miaozhu said.
While arranging the offerings, she slipped behind the tombstone. Guided by Uncle Chen's ghost, she found the cracked opening behind the sealed stone panel holding the ashes.
"Auntie, come look at this!" she called, feigning surprise.
Aunt Chen hurried over and crouched down. "How did this crack happen?"
"Auntie, with all the rain lately, you should get someone to check it. If the ashes get soaked, Uncle Chen won't rest easy," Song Miaozhu advised.
Aunt Chen immediately went to fetch cemetery staff—the panel was locked, and they'd need tools to open it.
"Mom, I'll go with you! Miaozhu, could you watch our things?" Shuanghe asked before following.
Song Miaozhu exhaled in relief. Once repaired, Uncle Chen's underworld home would finally be safe from flooding.
"Thank you, Song girl! Thanks to you, I can finally sleep in comfort!" Uncle Chen's ghost, half-visible within the gravestone, bowed to her in gratitude.
"It was no trouble at all," Miaozhu said. Then, curious, she asked, "Uncle Chen, can ghosts really not come out during the day?"
"The yang energy's too strong. Staying out too long would scatter our souls. Even at night, only wandering ghosts—those without underworld homes or registration—can roam freely. But without shelter, they fade quickly.
For us buried ghosts, bound to our graves, daytime's impossible, and even at night, we're confined to our burial sites. Only during the Ghost Festival, when the gates of hell open, can we visit the living world. My spirit residence was damaged by flooding. That weakened the seal and let me slip through a loophole. I tried to send dreams, but my power was too weak. They didn't even work.
My tomb was damaged, flooded—that weakened its hold, so I slipped out to try sending a dream. But I was too weak to do it properly."
He paused, then added thoughtfully, "You must have the Heavenly Eye open. Your Song family has a history with the unseen, don't they? I heard your ancestors had such abilities—but I didn't think it was true until now.
If not for you, my home might've been lost. Even though I'm officially registered in Fengdu and wouldn't become a wandering ghost, I'd lose the ability to receive offerings from the living. Life in the underworld would become very hard."
As he spoke, Uncle Chen glanced at the paper offerings his wife and daughter had brought. The incense stank to high heaven, and the paper money was cheap, glossy trash.
"Song girl… can I ask you one more favor? Tell your aunt and Shuanghe to stop buying this trash! Your family's stuff is good—have them buy from you from now on!"