When dusk fell, William Grant arrived at the foot of West Mountain. After tidying up his mother's grave, he lit incense, and then took up temporary residence in a small temple not far from the mountain’s base.

This temple, called Autumn Moon Temple, was a dilapidated Buddhist monastery, watched over by an ordinary old monk. Every year, William Grant would stay here for a while—partly to keep vigil at his mother’s grave, and partly for the peace and quiet.

After giving the old monk a few strings of incense money and eating a bowl of mushroom noodles, he settled down to rest in a side hall, lit a lamp, started a charcoal fire, and prepared to read through the night.

The north wind howled, making the walls on all sides creak and groan.

In the courtyard of the temple’s side hall, weeds covered the ground, and the withered grass was swept up by the wind, creating a scene of utter desolation.

“This temple gets more rundown with each passing year. But the Great Qian Dynasty doesn’t value Buddhist temples, preferring to build Daoist monasteries. It’s no wonder.” Looking at the bleak and ruined temple, William Grant felt a pang of emotion, but also found it much fresher and more comfortable than the marquis’s residence, and his heart felt at ease.

“Mother, if your spirit is watching from above, please bless me to succeed in the imperial exam, so I can restore your honor.”

Gazing at the rapeseed oil lamp’s tiny flame, William Grant silently prayed.

Bang!

The lamp’s flame suddenly popped, sending out a spark.

Woooo! Woooo!

From deep in the distant mountains came a few shrill howls, like wolves or foxes, mixed with the night wind, or perhaps the call of a night owl.

Deep mountains, an ancient temple, the north wind, the laughter of wolves and foxes—these were all scenes to inspire fear.

But William Grant felt no fear in his heart. First, he believed he had never done anything to trouble his conscience; second, he was well-read in tales of foxes and ghosts, and in those stories, as long as the scholar’s heart was upright, he had nothing to fear—no ghost or demon could come near.

Pulling his clothes tighter, William Grant opened the door and stepped into the courtyard.

“Hm? What’s that?”

As soon as William Grant entered the courtyard, he noticed, several li away in a distant valley, a few fist-sized green flames floating up and down—very eerie.

“These ghost lights are emitted from human bones, often seen in wild graveyards. Nothing supernatural about it.” Facing the floating ghost lights, William Grant smiled and muttered to himself.

Suddenly, a piercing cry came from the distant mountains. A black shadow rose among the ghost lights, soared into the sky in an instant, making one think of an old demon flying out at night to devour human hearts. Most people, seeing such a scene, would be terrified.

But William Grant, judging by the sound, knew it was a night owl from the mountains.

All of a sudden, he felt a poetic mood and recited aloud: “A hundred-year-old owl becomes a tree spirit, laughter rises from the green-flame nest.”

“Young man, you’re not very old, but you’re quite the refined scholar. Laughter rises from the green-flame nest…”

Suddenly, a clear and sweet voice came from behind him.

William Grant was startled out of his wits! Cold sweat broke out all over his body. He spun around and saw, in his own room under the lamp, a young woman standing there in a pink court dress, graceful and elegant, about eighteen or nineteen years old, stunningly beautiful—so lovely it took his breath away.

A beauty under the lamp—a scene of absolute perfection.

But William Grant had no mind to admire her beauty. Think about it: in a remote mountain temple, a woman suddenly appears out of nowhere—she must be a ghost or a demon.

“Are you a ghost or a demon?”

William Grant pinched his fingers, steadying his nerves.

“Oh? How do you know whether I’m a ghost or a demon?”

The girl who had suddenly appeared looked at William Grant with a beaming smile.

“It’s simple. Your clothes are thin, and it’s freezing in these mountains—no normal person could stand it. Second, there isn’t a single household for miles around. How could a lone young woman appear in an ancient temple in the middle of the night?” As William Grant spoke, he suddenly felt a tingling numbness in his feet.

“That’s right, I am a ghost.” The girl’s expression suddenly changed, her tone icy cold, her face ashen, as if she might pounce and devour him at any moment.

“In this life, I believe I’ve done nothing to trouble my conscience. I came to this ancient temple to study and keep vigil for my mother. What do you want with me? If you’re a flirtatious female ghost looking for a night of romance with a scholar, let me tell you, you’ve found the wrong person. I, William Grant, have studied since childhood. Though I’m far from being upright or clever, I still hold to my principles and integrity. You’d better leave at once.”

William Grant flicked his fingers, widened his eyes, and glared fiercely at her.

“I don’t have any Daoist spells to drive away spirits, nor do I have any strength or martial skills—I couldn’t even truss a chicken. If I meet a ghost, I can only rely on my own vigor… I mustn’t show weakness. If I do, the other side will take advantage. My mind must be upright and resolute.”

As William Grant glared fiercely at the woman under the lamp, he encouraged himself in his heart, firming his resolve.

To deal with demons and ghosts, William Grant firmly believed that the first thing was to have a strong spirit.

“Hee hee, hee hee. Young man, you’re really interesting.”

Suddenly, the girl giggled and waved her hand. “I was just joking with you. I’m not a ghost. Ghosts don’t cast shadows under the lamp. Come over here—you should be able to sense the blood and energy in my body. What kind of ghost has that? If there were a ghost with blood and energy, it wouldn’t be a ghost at all, but a Daoist celestial being.”

“Oh?”