Chapter 0032 The Urn That Won't Stay Gone
I was stunned. "The urn ran back by itself? Are you pulling my leg?"
Wang Jiao stood at the shop entrance, crying. "It really did come back by itself!" Knowing Wang Jiao wouldn't lie to me, I quickly pressed her for details. As Wang Jiao cried and recounted the events, I finally understood.
It turned out that Sun Xicai had acquired that batch of urns from a funerary supplies shop in Tiexi. That morning, Sun Xicai had indeed packed all the urns in large cardboard boxes and hired a minivan to take them back. The shop owner, of course, refused to take them. After much pleading, the owner agreed to buy them back at one-third of the original price. Sun Xicai lost several thousand yuan and was scolded by Wang Jiao for the rest of the day.
The next morning, as Wang Jiao was cleaning the shop, the cat—a gift from a neighbor half a month ago—stood in front of a shelf, arching its back and making a snake-like "hissing" sound, its eyes fixed on the bottom of the shelf. Wang Jiao found it strange. She reached out and lifted the inner cloth curtain at the bottom of the shelf, discovering another urn inside. She blamed Sun Xicai for being so careless and leaving one behind, telling him to get rid of it as quickly as possible, as it was bad luck to look at. That afternoon, Sun Xicai put the urn in a large shoebox and returned it to the funerary supplies shop. This time, the owner flat-out refused to take it, even for free. Sun Xicai was confused. It was clearly stock from you, so why won't you take it back even for free? The shop owner offered no explanation, just wouldn't accept it.
Sun Xicai thought, If you won't take it, why don't I just throw it away? Since he had already lost so much money, he didn't care about this one. So, he threw the urn into a ditch by the roadside.
That night, both of them had the same dream: an old man with a face full of wrinkles pointed his finger at them, constantly saying something with a very angry expression, but they couldn't hear what he was saying.
The next day, as Wang Jiao was looking for goods for a customer, the cat exhibited the strange behavior again, howling at the bottom of the shelf. Wang Jiao felt a chill. She walked over and lifted the yellow cloth curtain, and the urn was there again. Wang Jiao immediately called Sun Xicai and fiercely scolded him for being unwilling to throw the urn away. Sun Xicai swore to heaven that he had thrown the urn into a ditch in the Tiexi district and hadn't brought it back. Wang Jiao looked closely, and sure enough, one corner of the box had a chip mark and dirty water stains.
Wang Jiao personally wrapped the urn tightly with several black plastic bags. The two of them drove together to the Hun River and threw the urn into the river. Wang Jiao even said, "Don't think you can fool me this time. Let's see how you transport it back now." Sun Xicai helplessly tried to explain, but Wang Jiao wouldn't listen.
The next morning, they washed their faces and came out. Wang Jiao joked that if the urn were still under the shelf, that would truly be seeing a ghost. Sun Xicai cursed and kicked open the yellow cloth curtain. Both were immediately speechless—the urn was back, and the water stains hadn't even dried yet.
This went on for four consecutive days. Every day, the two of them frantically drove to various impossible-to-find places to dispose of the urn, but every morning, the urn, more punctual than a clock-in, was quietly lying inside the yellow cloth curtain beneath the shelf. Wang Jiao broke down crying, accusing Sun Xicai of provoking a ghost, and then she called me.
If this had happened a few years ago before I went to Thailand, I would never have believed it, but now it was different. I squatted down and reached out to pick up the urn. I examined it carefully, inside and out. Wang Jiao and Sun Xicai hid outside the door, as if the urn was about to explode. The cat stood at the doorway, watching me with ill intent.
This was a very ordinary urn, old on the outside and clearly used. There was an oval groove on the front of the box with a black-and-white photo of an old man embedded in it, who seemed to be the owner of the ashes. Turning the box over, there was an adhesive sticker on the bottom with writing in black marker. Because it had been soaked in water, the sticker was a bit ragged, but the writing was still legible: "Zheng Yonggui, 1924.11.19-05.11.19" and other characters.
No doubt, the old man in the black-and-white photo was Zheng Yonggui, born in 1924 and died in 2005. His birthday and death anniversary were the same day, meaning he lived for exactly 81 years, not a day more or less. Frank Fang had once told me that an 81-year-old man is called an Extreme Yang Man (Mo Yang Nan). If such a man dies that year, his corpse is considered half-Yin and half-Yang, which is excellent material for spirit infusion. And anything that stores human remains is an extremely Yin object, whether it's an urn, an ash pot, or a flesh jar.
Just as I was about to stand up, the Five Poisons Oil pendant around my neck turned black like ink. My heart leaped. Judging by the color, a spirit had attached itself to this urn, and its resentment was very strong. I was at a loss, so I immediately called Frank Fang and explained the situation. Frank Fang said, "This is difficult. I wouldn't even dare touch an Extreme Yang Man'surn. Your cousin-in-law is truly bold!" I fretfully asked him how to solve it. Frank Fang thought for a moment: "At exactly midnight, at a crossroad, wrap the box in red cloth, douse it with high-proof alcohol, and burn it. Before burning it, put a woman's bloody sanitary napkin inside the box. If this method still doesn't work, we'll have to send the box back to Thailand, and I'll find an Arjan master to fix it for you. But that will definitely cost money—tens of thousands of Thai Baht minimum."
Sending it back to Thailand was too expensive. Burning it was simpler. I explained the situation to the two of them and prepared to act that night.
At midnight, I poured rubbing alcohol over the urn containing Wang Jiao's used sanitary napkin, wrapped it in red cloth, and burned the box into a pile of black ash at an uninhabited intersection. Perhaps due to stress and anxiety, my head was constantly throbbing, and I had to press my hands against my temples. Sun Xicai asked fearfully, "Brother Tian, will this method work?"
I glared at him fiercely. "We have to try, whether it works or not! Do you have a better idea?" He shrank his head and didn't speak again. Wang Jiao glared at him, panting with anger. If I hadn't been there, she probably would have slapped him already. After the box was burned, I told them they were safe and to rest easy. I then took a taxi home. At home, the headache worsened, and my vision occasionally turned black. I forced myself to fall asleep quickly, finally managing to doze off around 2 AM.
I had a dream: an old man with a wrinkled face was trembling with anger and said to me, "I don't want to go back to the tower. Don't force me."
The next morning, I was awakened by a phone call before I was fully awake. Wang Jiao was sobbing uncontrollably on the phone. "Brother, th-that box is b-back again!"
I was instantly wide awake. I got up immediately, splashed some water on my face, and took a taxi to the amulet shop. Entering the shop, I lifted the yellow cloth curtain at the base of the shelf. Sure enough, the old urn was still lying there quietly, as if nothing had happened. I took the urn out and carefully examined it from all sides. It was definitely the one.
I asked Sun Xicai, "Did both of you personally watch me burn it last night?"
Sun Xicai said with a tearful face, "Yes, it was burned to ashes!"
I said, "I thought I burned it in a dream last night. This is truly bizarre." I quickly called Frank Fang and asked him what to do. Frank Fang said, "This is tough. You can bring the box back to Thailand, and I'll find an Arjan master to solve it for you, but it will definitely cost money—at least tens of thousands of Thai Baht. Alternatively, I can send you a few incantations. You can try to drive the spirit out of the urn. But the spirit needs something to attach to. If there's nothing spiritual, it will attach to a person, and that's even more trouble."
"What counts as something spiritual?" I asked.
Frank Fang said, "An ordinary Positive-energy Amulet will do, or a Guman Thong from a legitimate temple. Put the Positive-energy Amulet inside the urn. At midnight, try chanting the incantations to see if you can get the spirit to attach to the amulet."
I asked, "Even if the spirit attaches to the amulet, what's the point? Won't it still cause trouble?"
Frank Fang said, "Of course it's different. The amulet has been blessed by a high monk and has a spirit-suppressing effect. Once the spirit enters the amulet, it will be subdued by the blessed magic. In fact, it will simply become a Negative-energy Amulet. The principle is the same."
I was happy but also gave a wry smile. "I'm not an Arjan master. Do I have that kind of power?"
Frank Fang said, "Treat a dead horse as if it's alive! If it doesn't work, we'll talk again."
I thought he had a point. In any case, there was no cost involved, just a small effort. If it failed, we could discuss going to Thailand. I had no choice but to agree. I explained the situation to Wang Jiao and Sun Xicai. Sun Xicai said, "Oh my goodness, I hope it works!" Wang Jiao cried and cursed him. "You useless person! If you hadn't been so greedy and brought in so many urns, this wouldn't have happened! Why are you good for nothing?"