Where the mighty Yangtze River converged with the Grand Canal near Zhenjiang, the water churned with powerful, complex currents. Controlling this vital junction, allowing the passage of grain barges and imperial vessels between the river and the canal, stood the formidable Beigu Lock complex. It wasn't a single gate, but a series of interconnected chambers, massive timber gates, intricate sluices, and powerful capstans, built generations ago through immense labour and ingenuity – a testament to the Song dynasty's mastery over water, yet also a place steeped in the memory of the human cost such mastery often entailed. Now, this crucial artery was partially closed for essential repairs, its aging timbers groaning, its stonework weeping, and its waters whispering tales not just of commerce, but of chilling, inexplicable dread.
The project, overseen by the weary but renowned Chief Engineer Master Guan, was plagued by far more than technical difficulties. The massive lock gates, operated by complex systems of ropes and counterweights, would jam unpredictably, sometimes refusing to budge, other times slamming shut with terrifying force, narrowly missing workers. Sluice controls malfunctioned, causing water levels within the chambers to surge or drain erratically, threatening to swamp repair barges or trap workers in sudden currents. Tools vanished overnight, only to reappear days later embedded deep in the silt at the bottom of the drained lock chamber, coated in slime and strange, fibrous water weeds.
Fear, cold and damp as the lock's deep stone walls, permeated the work site. Experienced artisans and labourers grew hesitant, their movements stiff with anxiety. They spoke in hushed tones of accidents that felt orchestrated – ropes fraying at critical moments, scaffolding collapsing without apparent cause, sudden, icy currents pulling at men working near the water line. The deepest chamber of the lock complex, Chamber Three, was particularly feared. Workers assigned there reported hearing faint, overlapping whispers and weeping sounds that seemed to rise from the murky water itself, especially near the ancient stone foundations. They felt an oppressive weight, a profound sense of sorrow and resentment, and sometimes caught fleeting glimpses of shimmering, thread-like shapes moving just beneath the water's surface or coalescing briefly in the damp air near the massive gate mechanisms. Several men had refused to work in Chamber Three altogether, abandoning the project despite the lure of good wages.
Master Guan, a man whose life had been dedicated to the logic of engineering and hydraulics, found his rational worldview crumbling. He saw the fear in his men's eyes, felt the unnatural chill himself, witnessed the inexplicable malfunctions that defied mechanical explanation. His practical foreman, Zhou, tried to maintain discipline, blaming faulty ropes or worker fatigue, but even his skepticism wavered after a heavy counterweight inexplicably crashed down, missing him by inches, accompanied by a sound like mocking, watery laughter echoing from the chamber depths. The repairs stalled, threatening vital Canal traffic and attracting the unwelcome attention of the regional Magistrate Pei.
It was Magistrate Pei, pressured by delayed shipments and worried merchants, who summoned Xuanzhen. He had heard of the Taoist's success in resolving unusual disturbances elsewhere, and while maintaining official skepticism, he saw Xuanzhen as a potential solution, either to genuinely address a supernatural problem or, at the very least, to calm the workers' fears through ritual and reassurance. He framed the request as seeking geomantic advice to counteract the site's persistent 'bad luck'.
Xuanzhen arrived at the Beigu Lock complex to find a scene of frustrated inertia. The massive structure, a feat of engineering, felt energetically sick. The qi was heavy, chaotic, saturated with the cold, stagnant energy of deep water, but also interwoven with powerful currents of human suffering – resentment, despair, exhaustion, and the lingering shock of violent, perhaps forgotten, deaths. The disturbance was strongest, as the workers claimed, in and around the oldest, deepest section, Chamber Three.
Master Guan received Xuanzhen with weary politeness, detailing the technical problems while Foreman Zhou hovered nearby, his arms crossed, radiating unease. Xuanzhen listened patiently, then asked about the lock's history, particularly its construction.
Master Guan sighed. "Built over two centuries ago, Master Taoist. A monumental undertaking. Records are sparse, but they speak of immense difficulty. Marshy ground, treacherous currents where the rivers meet... and conscripted labour." His voice dropped. "Thousands were drafted, mostly peasants, prisoners... conditions were brutal. Accidents were frequent. Cave-ins, drownings... the Canal demands a high price." He gestured towards the deep, murky water swirling within Chamber Three. "They say many who died were never recovered. Their bones lie beneath the silt, part of the foundation now."
Conscripted labourers, brutal conditions, unrecovered bodies, violent deaths – the perfect storm for creating a powerful, localized field of resentment and trapped spiritual energy. Xuanzhen suspected the dredging and repair work, disturbing the deep foundations and the centuries of accumulated silt, had awakened this dormant anguish. It wasn't a single ghost, but a collective entity, a 'Weaver of Watery Chains', born from the mingled despair of countless souls, now lashing out blindly at the disturbance, manipulating the very element that claimed them, tangling the mechanisms with spectral threads of sorrow and rage.
He requested permission to inspect Chamber Three more closely. Accompanied by a reluctant Foreman Zhou and two pale-faced workers carrying lanterns, Xuanzhen descended the slippery stone steps into the partially drained chamber. The air was cold, thick with the smell of mud and decay. Water still pooled deep in the center, reflecting the flickering lantern light ominously. The massive timber gates loomed like ancient, waterlogged behemoths. The whispers were audible here, a faint, overlapping chorus of sighs, weeping, and fragmented curses seeming to emanate from the stonework and the dark water. Xuanzhen felt the psychic pressure intensely – waves of despair, exhaustion, the feeling of being trapped, crushed, drowned.
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As they neared the main gate mechanism – a complex assembly of gears, chains, and massive winding drums – Xuanzhen saw them: faint, shimmering tendrils, like strands of woven water or mist, coiling around the rusted chains and gears. They pulsed with a cold, sorrowful light, subtly impeding the mechanism's movement. One of the workers gasped, pointing a trembling finger towards the deep pool. For a fleeting moment, indistinct, sorrowful faces seemed to surface and dissolve back into the murky depths.
"Enough!" Foreman Zhou barked, unnerved despite himself. "There's nothing here but damp and shadows. Let's go."
But Xuanzhen knew what he had seen and felt. The Weaver of Watery Chains was real, an entity born of collective trauma, bound to the lock, reacting to the disturbance with elemental fury and spectral sabotage.
"The suffering here is profound, Foreman," Xuanzhen said quietly. "The spirits of those who perished building this lock are disturbed. Their resentment fuels the phenomena. Simple repairs will not suffice; the energy itself must be harmonized."
He explained his understanding to Master Guan and Magistrate Pei. Pei was impatient, demanding a quick exorcism. Guan, however, having witnessed the phenomena firsthand and understanding the weight of the lock's history, seemed more receptive to Xuanzhen's approach.
"Force will only agitate it further," Xuanzhen cautioned. "This entity is woven from pain. It requires acknowledgement, release, not banishment. We must appease the spirits and restore balance to the elements they now influence."
His plan involved a ritual within Chamber Three itself, timed for midday when the Yang energy of the sun could counter the deep Yin of the lock and water. It required temporarily halting all work, fully draining the chamber as much as possible, and preparing specific offerings and tools. Offerings included rice wine (to warm and appease spirits), woven straw effigies representing the lost labourers, and paper spirit money. Tools included purifying salt, willow branches (for soothing water/earth), metal chimes tuned to specific frequencies (to disrupt chaotic energy), and talismans inscribed with characters for peace (安 - ān), release (解 - jiě), and passage (渡 - dù).
Magistrate Pei grumbled but agreed, desperate for a solution. Master Guan oversaw the draining of the chamber, revealing the muddy, debris-strewn floor and the massive, ancient foundation stones. The air grew colder, the whispers louder, as the water receded, as if the entity felt exposed, vulnerable.
At noon, Xuanzhen descended into the damp, echoing chamber, accompanied only by Master Guan (representing the builders) and Old Man Gui (representing local respect for the water spirits). Foreman Zhou and the workers watched nervously from the lock edge above. The atmosphere was thick with tension, the whispers swirling around them like unseen currents.
Xuanzhen established a ritual space on the damp floor near the main gate mechanism, where the energy felt strongest. He lit purifying incense, its smoke struggling to rise in the heavy air. Old Man Gui began chanting prayers to the local river spirits, asking for their intercession and calm. Master Guan, following Xuanzhen's instruction, formally spoke words of acknowledgement and apology to the spirits of the fallen labourers, recognizing their sacrifice and the hardships they endured.
Then, Xuanzhen began the core ritual. He scattered the purifying salt, visualizing it cleansing the lingering resentment. He placed the willow branches against the weeping stone walls, grounding the chaotic energy. He arranged the straw effigies respectfully, offering them the spirit money and rice wine, chanting prayers for their release from bondage to this place, guiding them towards peaceful passage.
As he chanted, the watery tendrils manifested more clearly, writhing around the gate mechanisms, coiling up from damp crevices in the floor. The whispers intensified into a cacophony of sorrow and anger. The temperature plummeted. The massive chains of the gate mechanism began to rattle violently, moved by an unseen force.
Xuanzhen remained calm, centered. He began striking the metal chimes, their clear, resonant tones cutting through the spectral noise. He moved deliberately, weaving patterns of sound designed to harmonize the chaotic water energy, to soothe the tangled knot of collective grief. He focused his intent not on fighting the entity, but on untangling it, on offering peace to the individual sorrows that composed it. He visualized the spectral chains dissolving, the trapped energy flowing freely, guided towards release.
The reaction was intense. A wave of cold despair washed through the chamber, extinguishing two of the lanterns. The watery tendrils lashed out, coalescing into vaguely humanoid shapes of swirling mist and mud near the foundation stones. The rattling of the chains grew deafening.
Xuanzhen intensified his efforts, his voice ringing out with the final mantras of release and passage, striking the chimes with unwavering rhythm. He poured his own qi into the ritual, projecting warmth, compassion, and the promise of peace.
Slowly, the resistance began to fade. The rattling lessened. The spectral shapes wavered, lost cohesion, dissolving back into mist. The whispers softened, becoming sighs, then fading altogether. The oppressive cold lifted, replaced by the neutral dampness of the deep stone. The watery tendrils around the mechanisms thinned, dissipated, vanished.
A profound stillness settled over Chamber Three, broken only by the dripping of water and the distant sounds of the Canal outside. The Weaver of Watery Chains, its collective grief acknowledged, its energy harmonized, had finally released its hold.
Master Guan let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, awe and relief washing over his face. Xuanzhen completed the ritual with final prayers, then advised Guan and the Magistrate to erect a proper stone tablet near the lock entrance, inscribed with the names (if any could be recovered from records) or at least the acknowledgement of the labourers who died during the construction, ensuring their sacrifice was no longer forgotten.
The repairs to the Beigu Lock proceeded smoothly after that, the strange accidents and unsettling atmosphere gone. Xuanzhen departed Zhenjiang, leaving the Canal to its vital work. The incident was a somber reminder that great works of human ingenuity often rested upon foundations of forgotten suffering. The spirits of place were not just tied to mountains and forests, but also to the structures built by human hands, especially those built with blood and tears. Ignoring that history, disturbing those foundations without respect, could awaken echoes of pain capable of tangling the present in chains forged from past despair, until acknowledged and finally released through compassion and remembrance.
