Chapter Thirty-Three: The Night Vigil Ceremony

Bored and with nothing else to do, my master and I lent a hand here and there. After dinner, all the villagers gathered in the courtyard. Neither my master nor I knew anyone, so we didn’t join in. The hands of the clock spun quickly, and soon it was eleven at night. The courtyard was still bustling, for it was Zhang Guoqing’s last night, and many rituals remained unfinished.

At that moment, the geomancer stepped out and called, “Prepare for the ancestral eulogy. All relatives and family of Elder Zhang Guoqing, come take your seats over here.”

With those words, I saw an elderly man with a head full of silver hair and glasses, holding an ancient leather-bound book. He took his place on the dais that had long been prepared. Instantly, the crowd fell silent; all the relatives and family members sat in their designated spots. The old man arranged the microphone in front of him, cleared his throat, and began to recite the ancestral eulogy.

My master told me that the ancestral eulogy recounts the life and deeds of the deceased. The one who recites it must employ many skills—such as sobbing and trembling their voice. It’s a curious thing: even though the family members aren’t really crying, as soon as the old man began, tears streamed down their faces. I saw Zhang Moyun’s aunt weeping so hard she was inconsolable, with two people beside her trying to comfort her.

The eulogy lasted over an hour before the ceremony was finally complete. After a while, the geomancer organized the family and relatives into a line according to seniority, elders at the front, juniors at the back. Leading the procession were the “Hall Drummers,” four percussionists standing at the very front.

The first person held a white candle, and together with the other drummers, began to sing a mourning song. After each verse, the remaining three would strike a rhythm on their drums and gongs. The procession led the line from the courtyard into the mourning hall, circling the coffin three times. The ritual was quiet, save for the mournful songs and the beat of drums and gongs. The drummers were clearly seasoned in their craft; the lament they sang, urged on by the night, sounded especially desolate and heartbreaking, like autumn winds sweeping fallen yellow leaves to the ground.

Seeing this, I thought all the rituals had finished. But to my surprise, there was more. The geomancer called out again, “Send off the departed! Family, kneel!”

At his words, all the Zhang family stood still. The geomancer produced a sheet of paper, seemingly with names written on it. Each time a name was called, someone from the line stepped forward and knelt before the mourning hall. Then the geomancer shouted, “Eulogy complete! Kowtow! Nine times, rise!”

When the family had all finished their kneeling, I turned to my master and asked, “Master, are the rituals done now? It’s already two in the morning.”

He nodded, but said nothing. Then I heard the geomancer call out again, “The Golden Boy and Jade Girl’s filial hearts are revealed—come forth!”

As his words fell, the sound of a suona rose, wailing with grief. When it ended, the drummers readied their instruments, and after each mourning verse, struck up the drums again. My master had explained before that the drummers served two purposes: first, to add liveliness to the proceedings; second, to play for the dead, for the mourning songs were meant for the departed, like a performance for ghosts. Of course, that’s how we insiders see it. Outsiders would think it’s just another noisy tradition.

This time, the mourning songs and drums did not stop. The geomancer walked to the Zhang family’s side. My master and I were close enough to overhear him say, “At four o’clock, it’s time to close the face. Get ready.”

All the family members nodded. I was puzzled by the term “close the face.” I turned to my master, about to ask, but he raised his hand to stop me. “I know what you’re thinking. ‘Closing the face’ means the living relatives see the deceased for the last time—it’s opening the coffin for a final look. Soon after that, we’ll bind the coffin, lock the soul, and perform the withdrawal. Don’t think you’ll get any sleep tonight. We’ll head up the mountain later to help carry the funeral wreaths. If you’re helping, you help to the end. This geomancer looks capable enough—I’m curious how well he’s chosen the burial site. We’ll check it out then.”

I agreed, asked my master a quick question, then ran into the mourning hall to watch the drummers. I have to say, the drummers kept a good rhythm, with coordinated highs and lows. I sat by one of them. As four o’clock approached, the drummers ceased, stepped outside, some to smoke, others to crack sunflower seeds. I saw people heading out and thought to follow, but my master came in with his hands behind his back. I hurried to his side. He glanced at me and said, “Thinking of learning the drums, are you?”

I stuck out my tongue and smiled without answering. The geomancer came in then and addressed the family, “Are there any children sleeping upstairs? If so, carry them down, or the opening of the coffin might frighten them.”

Soon, I saw a woman carrying a sleeping child down the stairs. The geomancer nodded and continued, “In a moment, anyone born in the year of the Dog or Ox, and those aged thirty-two or fifty-eight, must leave and not watch.”

The family looked at each other, then a woman and two men left the room. The geomancer approached the coffin, checked the time, exchanged a look with my master, then announced, “It’s time. Open the coffin for the final viewing!”

With that, my master and the geomancer lifted the coffin lid and set it on a long bench nearby. Instantly, the family surged forward. Zhang Moyun stood by the coffin, covering her mouth, her shoulders shaking; the rest of the family likewise had reddened eyes. Zhang Guoqing’s body showed no signs of unnatural disturbance, as if the geomancer had quietly arranged everything beforehand. After the final viewing, the geomancer signaled to my master, who instantly understood and moved to the coffin lid.

The geomancer then told his apprentice, “Turn off the lights.”

Next, my master and the geomancer replaced the coffin lid and sealed it tight. My master clapped his hands and led me outside. I turned to him and asked, “Why did they have to turn off the lights just now?”

“It’s to prevent a living person’s shadow from being sealed inside the coffin. If that happens, the deceased might come to fetch the owner of that shadow on the seventh night, or else that person will suffer bad luck for life,” my master explained.

I nodded, understanding.

There’s a little aside here: in many places, funeral customs don’t require the coffin to stay for seven days. Usually, a geomancer will check the sixty-year cycle to choose the dates for the vigil and burial. It doesn’t have to wait the full seven days; traditions differ from place to place.

Once the viewing was over, the geomancer approached us and asked my master, “Fellow Daoist, when we go up the mountain later, could I trouble you to join the procession? I just did a quick calculation and feel somewhat uneasy.”

My master agreed without hesitation. The geomancer thanked him and went to the microphone to announce, “Coffin bearers, come forward! It's time for the withdrawal!”

He put down the microphone, nodded at my master, and went inside to direct the arrangements. Soon, I saw eight burly men come in from the courtyard, carrying large wooden poles on their shoulders, looking as if they’d just woken up.

I turned to my master. He shook his head and said, “You’re about to ask, aren’t you? Fine, I’ll explain. See those eight big men? They’re called the Eight Great Helpers, carefully chosen from the village for this task. Why carefully chosen? Because they must have strong yang energy and fierce auras—vicious spirits fear such people. That’s the first reason. The second is about the withdrawal. There are two steps: dismantling decorations and binding the coffin. Dismantling is self-explanatory; binding means tying the two ends of the coffin with special hemp ropes. Descendants of the deceased must not do the binding—it’s bad luck if they do, as if they’re binding their own kin. When that’s done, there’s a crucial step: soul-locking. This tells the underworld’s messengers that the person has truly left the world and can be taken for reincarnation. But the coffin must be properly bound first, or the messengers may think the person doesn’t wish to depart and might act forcefully. That risks offending the underworld judge, who could consign the soul to the eighteenth level of hell or rebirth as an animal.”

“But, master, isn’t it that the soul leaves the body when a person dies and the messengers come to lock the soul? Why wait until the coffin is bound? That’s not what the TV shows say,” I asked, puzzled.

“TV? You’re not making movies. That’s all fiction. These days, the underworld has changed its rules—it allows the deceased to linger in the mortal world for a while to say farewell to loved ones. Only after the coffin is bound do the messengers take the soul,” my master explained.

I let out a long “Oh,” nodding in comprehension, just as my master patted my shoulder and whispered, “Look, the messengers are here. They’re really dedicated, coming on duty even with the underworld in chaos.”

I followed his gaze and saw two figures, one in black and one in white, approaching—the legendary Black and White Impermanence. They floated to the door, drew out their soul-locking chains, and took Zhang Guoqing’s soul away.

Seeing this, I sighed, “Ah, that’s life. Even in death, you’re taken to the underworld in chains.”

“That’s why, when you’re out in the world, don’t be rash. Safety comes first,” my master replied.

I grinned at him. “Isn’t it fine as long as you’re here? What’s there to fear?”

He rolled his eyes and lightly tapped the back of my head. “You’re just being cheeky. One day, fledglings must fly on their own, and you’re no different.”

I shrugged. “No matter. One day, the young bird will look after the old.”

My master actually laughed at that, ruffling my hair. I shrank my neck and looked back at the mourning hall. The withdrawal was nearly complete; the coffin was tightly bound. I watched as one of the bearers moved between house and yard, threading a wooden pole through the rope loop. He counted down, “Three, two, one,” and the coffin was lifted and placed outside the main gate.

At the moment the coffin was raised, the drummers struck up again. The geomancer stepped outside, shut the doors, and with three sticks of incense drew a command in the center of the two doors. With that, all the rituals were complete, and all that remained was to eat breakfast before carrying the coffin up the mountain.

My master and I found a spot to sit, ate a little, then I wiped my mouth and asked, “Master, what’s that big wooden pole?”

He glanced ahead. “Oh, that’s the balance beam, used for carrying the coffin. Pack up, we’ll be heading up the mountain soon.”

I nodded. When everyone had finished eating, the Eight Great Helpers gathered by the coffin, squatting in unison, ready to lift. The geomancer called out, “The hour has arrived! Raise the coffin!”

At his command, four teams of drummers—two leading, two following—marched in formation. As one team finished a piece, another took over. All the family members and villagers who came to help shouldered wreaths and soul banners. I was no exception, lugging two large funeral wreaths in the middle of the procession. My master, looking unhurried, walked side by side with the geomancer, and I saw him actually smiling at their conversation.

I muttered to myself, “Master, you’ve got it easy. These wreaths are heavy as death.”

I shot him a look and steadied the wreaths, following the line. By now, the sky was beginning to lighten. The geomancer, walking in the center, called ahead, “Don’t go so fast up there! Wait for the coffin. When the coffin stops, you stop. Don’t just rush ahead as if you’re in a hurry to die!”

After his warning, a young voice piped up from the procession, “Oh, come on, sir, don’t make such a fuss. What’s there to be afraid of in broad daylight?”

No sooner had he finished than a chill wind swept through, making everyone shiver. My master frowned, stepped forward, closed his eyes for a moment, and then opened them again. “It’s nothing. I was overthinking. It’s just a few little ghosts lingering in the mortal world, picking up paper money. Ignore them.”

The geomancer nodded and took his word for it. “Move on, move on! Keep going up front!”

The procession moved on. When we reached the burial ground, dawn had fully broken. Under the geomancer’s direction, the eight bearers gently lowered the coffin into the grave and began to bury it. My master nodded in satisfaction. “Interesting. This geomancer really is skilled. This is a blessed spot—Zhang’s descendants will prosper here.”

When he finished, I asked, “Master, is the mountain ritual finished now?”

“As soon as the earth is filled in, it’s done. Let’s go. We’re not needed here anymore. Let’s go to Zhang Moyun’s house and help her mother’s soul return. Go and fetch that girl,” my master said, patting my shoulder.

I nodded and went to find Zhang Moyun, bringing her home. After two days of bustling about, we were back at her house. Zhang Wen was still tending to her mother, but after all this time, she still hadn’t woken, which made Zhang Wen frantic.

Zhang Moyun pushed open the door ahead of us. Inside, we saw Zhang Wen sitting on a stool, with several bottles of beer beside him. When he saw us return, he seemed to regain a bit of composure. “Sister, how’s everything with Uncle’s side?”

Zhang Moyun nodded. “He’s been buried. There’s nothing more I can do there, so I came back.”

Zhang Wen nodded, sat back down, and took a swig of beer. Zhang Moyun took the bottle away and said, “Brother, stop drinking. I know you’re worried about Mom, but don’t be. My friend’s master is a famous doctor. Let him have a try—I’m sure he’ll save her.”