"The Dao that can be spoken is not the eternal Dao.The name that can be named is not the eternal name."
These lines from the Tao Te Ching speak of a truth that transcends words. Though just a handful of characters, they express a profound understanding of all things. A complete explanation might take a lifetime, yet in simple terms, it means this: if something can be clearly explained, then it's no longer the ultimate truth. And if something is known by name, it cannot be eternal.
The world is vast and full of wonders. Every day, strange and inexplicable things happen—stories that defy logic, passed from mouth to mouth, evolving into the kind of tales people share over tea. Everyone brings their lens, their version of what they heard. By the time a story reaches the third or fourth retelling, it's already become something else entirely.
Most rumors get twisted out of shape, distorted beyond recognition, sometimes even turning into ghost stories meant to scare children into behaving. But has anyone ever stopped to wonder—what if the truth is even more bizarre than the rumors themselves?
My name is Mu Shenyu. I was a sickly child, so weak that my mother feared I wouldn't survive. In desperation, she gave me away. Or rather, she sent me to be raised by someone else. In my mother's hometown, there's an old custom for children like me—children prone to illness. They would be symbolically adopted by a spiritual godmother, often a revered medium. It was said that such a ritual could help ward off sickness and misfortune.
My godmother was known as Granny Ling, though most referred to her simply as "the Ghost Crone." She was the most renowned spirit medium in our town. Every year, hundreds of families sought her out in hopes of forming a spiritual bond—what we called "signing the spirit contract." But Granny Ling only ever accepted nine children a year. People said if she took in too many, she wouldn't have the strength to protect them all.
I was born during the Ghost Month, prematurely and frail. According to my mother, when I was eighteen months old, I came down with a raging fever that lasted three days, peaking at over 40°C. Nothing the hospital did helped. The doctors were at a loss. Just when my mother thought she was going to lose me, my grandaunt arrived.
She was a fisherwoman, usually spending more time at sea than on land. It was near year's end, and the moment she came ashore and heard about my condition, she rushed to the hospital without even tending to her catch. She took my mother and me straight to Granny Ling.
Granny Ling lived in what we called a "stone boat." From a distance, it looked like a weathered old fishing vessel, but in truth, it was a house shaped like a ship, built with bricks, timber, and corrugated metal, firmly fixed to the shore. It didn't sail, and it never moved.
We arrived on the eve of the Lunar New Year. The sky had already gone dark. Granny Ling had just finished her year-end ritual and wasn't keen on performing another. It was only after much pleading from my grandaunt that she reluctantly agreed to help.
My mother told me that when I first entered the stone boat, I was barely conscious. But after Granny Ling performed her ritual and gave me a bowl of sacred tea she brewed before the statue of the "Lady Guardian," I perked up immediately. By the time we left, I was bursting with energy. Once home, my mother brewed the herbs Granny Ling had given her, and just like that, the fever broke.