The Ghost Opera at the Hu Family Ancestral Hall

1,492 words

Chapter 32: The Hu Family Ancestral Hall

Those who could afford to hire a troupe to perform for ghosts were no ordinary folk. The Hu family was a major clan in Wuligang; nearly a third of the village bore their surname.

Li Huowang had already learned from Lü Zhuangyuan that the man funding the opera was Hu Qinghe, the wealthiest landlord in all of Wuligang and also the one with the highest seniority in the clan.

Right now, he was accompanying Lü Zhuangyuan and his troupe as they hurried toward the Hu Family Ancestral Hall.

"Master Hu said there's nothing to worry about," Lü Zhuangyuan muttered. "He's hired other troupes to play ghost operas in previous years. Nothing ever happened."

Li Huowang shot him a glance. He couldn't tell if the man was trying to reassure him or himself.

He pressed a hand against the bell at his waist. His mind settled slightly. Even if something did happen, it would be fine. Having this thing gave him some peace of mind.

Of course, it would be best if nothing happened at all. Every time he summoned the Wandering Lord, it cost him three months of his lifespan.

They walked along the village path and soon arrived at the Hu Family Ancestral Hall, which was already dotted with red lanterns.

The place was packed with people. Li Huowang and the others couldn't even squeeze through. Craning his neck past the layers of bobbing heads, he saw many people lighting incense and kowtowing before rows of black spirit tablets.

"That's Master Hu over there," Lü Zhuangyuan said, pointing at the old man in silk robes at the very front of the kowtowing crowd. "He also said we shouldn't leave right after the show. They're inviting us to dinner."

As he spoke, the people who had been kowtowing rose and respectfully removed the black ancestral tablets from their shelves, placing them on half-moon tables that had been prepared in advance.

There were many tablets, and many tables. The spacious, three-entry ancestral hall was filled to capacity.

The tables in front of the tablets were not empty. They were laden with sumptuous dishes of every variety.

Red candles, incense, gold ingots made of paper, and yellow spirit money were neatly arranged on serving platters, offered for the ancestors to enjoy.

As if afraid that the ancestors might feel neglected, a dozen paper effigy figures stood along the walls holding trays with tea cups, presumably waiting to be placed beside the tables later.

"Hey, old Master Hu sure is generous. Hiring an opera troupe with his own money just so the ancestors can watch a show."

"Yeah, no wonder all of Master Hu's sons and grandsons are healthy and free from disaster. It's all because the ancestors are watching over them."

"Sigh, I wonder if I'll ever have this kind of good fortune after I die."

"Then you'd better hope your descendants can earn as much money as Master Hu. Hiring people to sing for ghosts costs a fortune."

Listening to the chatter of the Hu clan members and observing the solemn scene before him, Li Huowang's heart steadied slightly. This really didn't look like a place where anything would go wrong.

He leaned slightly toward Lü Zhuangyuan. "Troupe Master Lü, you've traveled far and wide for so many years. Have you encountered more ghosts, or more of those asking-for-a-title things?"

"Eh?!" Lü Zhuangyuan's eyes flew wide open. His expression was one of utter astonishment. "What do you mean? Aren't they the same thing?"

"How could they be the same? One is what a person becomes after death, the other is..." Li Huowang started, then stopped, unsure how to explain.

But Li Huowang was certain of one thing. The Great Grandmother that Danyangzi used for alchemy, the Wandering Lord, and even that small-footed woman from the other night—these were absolutely not ghosts. At least, not ghosts as he understood them.

Just then, the Hu family tablets had been arranged. Hu Qinghe led a large group of Hu clan members toward Lü Zhuangyuan.

"Troupe Master Lü, I must trouble you with all the hard work," Hu Qinghe said. "Ah, Jiaoliang, you take the others and help Troupe Master Lü set up the stage."

"Oh, oh, we're not used to such courtesy! Master Hu, you're far too kind."

"Troupe Master Lü, you know the rules of the ghost opera. Once the ancestors come out to watch the show, we living descendants must withdraw and stay indoors with our doors closed. The ancestral hall will be in your care." Master Hu's face was full of benevolence as he gave his instructions.

"Of course, of course. Rest assured, Master Hu. As long as I'm here, the ancestral hall will be fine." Lü Zhuangyuan thumped his chest with absolute certainty.

Even though not a single person was watching, Lü Zhuangyuan truly didn't dare make a mistake. If something happened to the ancestral hall, the Hu family would bury the entire Lü Troupe alive.

"Also, once the opera begins, the living must not speak to the performers. We wouldn't want the ancestors to be disturbed."

"As for the opera, pick something lively. The ancestors said in a dream that the underworld is too cold and quiet. They want something festive to watch."

"You don't have to perform all night. Once the fifth watch passes, my son will come to escort the ancestral tablets back home, and then you may rest."

Lü Zhuangyuan's head bobbed like a pecking chick. "Yes, yes, yes. Rest assured, Master Hu. I won't break the rules."

With the help of the Hu family, the stage was quickly assembled inside the hall. Only five people would perform on stage tonight. Luo Juan hadn't come—women were not permitted inside the ancestral hall.

Then, at Hu Qinghe's shout, the dense crowd of onlookers quickly dispersed and headed home.

Clang-clang, clang-clang-clang! As the Lü family troupe began their performance on stage, Li Huowang stayed behind the scenes, waiting.

Time passed, minute by minute. The whole of Wuligang fell silent. The sprawling village was plunged into darkness, with only the ancestral hall lit by lanterns.

The living performing opera for the dead. This was a first for Li Huowang, too. He pulled back the curtain and looked out.

He had to admit, it was pretty unsettling. The stage was lively and bustling, but the audience was empty and silent. There was no applause. Only rows upon rows of black tablets engraved with names, and the spirit money and candles laid between them.

Having walked through Qingfeng Temple, this kind of scene wasn't enough to scare him anymore. But the Lü family troupe was a different story. Before long, Lü Juren, who was singing on stage, had forgotten his lines several times. Watching from the wings, Lü Zhuangyuan, who was handling the gongs, was beside himself with anxiety.

But as time passed, they began to settle into the performance. The flow smoothed out.

In the dead silence of the deep night, the sounds of the opera carried far. Accompanied by the music, the sword-bearing Li Huowang sat behind the backstage curtain, resting with his eyes half-closed.

As he listened, he had to admit—despite his boredom—he was starting to catch a certain charm in it. His head began to sway slightly in time with the yi-yi-ah-ah of the singing.

In this atmosphere, the second watch passed without him noticing. The third watch arrived.

By now, Li Huowang had gotten the timing straight. The third watch was 11 p.m. to 1 a.m. The fourth watch was 1 a.m. to 3 a.m. And the fifth watch was 3 a.m. to 5 a.m. Usually, after 5 a.m., the village roosters started to crow.

He yawned. For some reason, here, he always got drowsier than other people.

Getting paid for a job didn't mean he could actually fall asleep. To fight off the fatigue, Li Huowang took out the Heavenly Scripture and began to study it.

Recently, during night watches, he had been pulling it out to examine it. But aside from confirming that it was definitely a scripture encouraging people to do good, he hadn't gained anything else from it.

Time slipped by. The second watch passed, and the third watch arrived. The entire ancestral hall was quiet and normal. Nothing happened.

Li Huowang looked up and watched Lü Zhuangyuan, who was adjusting his makeup in front of a bronze mirror. The old troupe master must be bleeding inside right now, he thought to himself. Six silver taels, gone for nothing.

Thinking about it, he supposed it made sense. There really shouldn't be any trouble tonight. This was the Hu Family Ancestral Hall. The younger generation had invited the elders to watch a show. The elders wouldn't cause a scene.

Just as Li Huowang had resigned himself to a dull, uneventful night, the unexpected happened. He heard the yi-yi-ah-ah of the opera outside stop, without any warning at all.

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Reading Guide Decoding

Red Lanterns, Paper Men, and a Very Bad Final Note

Cultural / Xianxia Notes

Ghost Opera (鬼戏) is a real tradition rooted in Chinese folk religion. It's precisely what it sounds like: a theatrical performance for the dead, often to appease restless spirits, celebrate a wealthy ancestor's birthday, or provide entertainment during hungry ghost festivals. The rules are strict: the living audience must leave, and the troupe is left to perform solely for the spirit audience.
Paper Effigy Figures (纸人) were not just decorations. They were burned or placed at funerary rites to serve the deceased in the afterlife. Placing them with tea in an ancestral hall is a gesture of extreme care, suggesting the family believes their ancestors are present and need to be waited on.
The distinction Li Huowang is drawing here is core to the novel's worldbuilding. In traditional folklore, 'ghosts' (鬼, gui) are the lingering souls of the dead. But in the Dao-Twisted World, the Wandering Lords, Great Grandmothers, and Er Shen are a different breed of terror—they are older, more alien, and bound to specific rituals and lusts, not just unfinished human business.
Timekeeping: The 'watches' (更, geng) are a traditional Chinese system for dividing the night. The third watch (三更天) runs from 11 PM to 1 AM. It is considered the witching hour in many stories—the deepest, most yin-filled part of the night, when spirits are at their most active.

Chapter Overview

Time to break out the red lanterns, settle into the cold night air, and watch the living put on a show for the dead. This chapter is a masterclass in building dread through ritual and routine. Li Huowang has already survived the alchemy pits of Qingfeng Temple, so a mere ghost opera in a village ancestral hall should be a walk in the park, right? Wrong. Our boy is now a walking radar for supernatural bullshit, and every quiet moment feels like the calm before a screaming storm. The chapter lulls you into a false sense of peace—traditions are followed, incense is burned, and a Troupe Master frets over money—only to rip the silence apart with a sudden, unexplained halt of the music. The question isn't if something is wrong. The question is what just walked onto the stage when the music stopped.

Key Plot Points

Li Huowang learns that the ghost opera is a very literal transaction: the Hu family pays the troupe to perform for the dead, not the living. Living descendants must leave the hall and stay indoors once the performance starts.
Li Huowang checks his Daoist bell for reassurance, reminding himself (and the reader) that every summon of the Wandering Lord costs three months of his lifespan.
A crucial distinction is explored: ghosts (human dead) vs. entities like the Wandering Lord, the Great Grandmother, and the small-footed woman. Li Huowang concludes they are not the same thing.
The Hu family ancestral tablets are moved onto offering tables laden with food, candles, incense, and paper money. Paper effigy figures holding tea cups are placed on standby.
Li Huowang studies the Heavenly Scripture to stay awake, confirming it's a 'do-good' scripture with no new insights.
The opera starts roughly but gets into a rhythm. The second watch passes peacefully, then the third watch arrives.
In the silence of the night, with everything apparently normal, the music cuts out abruptly. Something is happening.

Reading Guide

For all you lovely Western readers, here's a quick decoder ring for this chapter's delicious tension. First, if you see a paper effigy holding a tea tray, do not, under any circumstances, take the tea it offers. That's a bad omen you don't want to invite. Second, notice how Li Huowang doesn't just feel safe—he actively categorizes the threats. He's building a mental field guide to the Dao-Twisted World. Ghosts are one thing; Wandering Lords are another. That's the thinking of a survivor, not a victim. Third, the sudden silence of the opera at the end isn't a technical glitch. In Chinese ghost stories, a sudden silence or a torch going out is the traditional signal that a spirit has just arrived on stage, uninvited. Get ready. The audience wasn't empty after all.