The city of Tanzhou, nestled in a fertile river valley, served as a vital administrative center for the surrounding prefecture. Its streets, narrower and less grand than those of Lin'an or Jiankang, nonetheless bustled with purpose. Farmers brought produce to its markets, merchants negotiated deals in shaded teahouses, and petitioners sought justice or favour within the imposing stone walls of the prefectural Yamen – the combined courthouse, jail, and administrative heart of local government. This particular Yamen was ancient, its grey stones weathered by centuries of sun, rain, and the countless human dramas enacted within its precincts. For several decades, however, it had stood largely empty, shuttered and decaying, acquiring a reputation for ill fortune after a string of misfortunes befell previous occupants. Only recently, under pressure from the provincial governor to restore efficient administration, had it been reopened, staffed by the newly appointed Magistrate Feng Zian.
Magistrate Feng was a man driven by ambition and a genuine belief in Confucian order. He arrived in Tanzhou determined to make his mark, clear backlogs, dispense justice fairly, and impress his superiors. He oversaw the Yamen's restoration – timbers repaired, walls replastered, offices furnished anew. Yet, from the moment he took up residence within its echoing halls, an unsettling feeling permeated the air, a subtle dissonance beneath the veneer of renewed activity. The building felt… watchful, heavy, its silence pregnant with unspoken history.
The troubles began subtly, easily dismissed as the friction of establishing a new administration. Documents would go missing from locked cabinets, only to reappear days later in illogical places. Inkwells overturned spontaneously, ruining carefully prepared edicts. Scribes complained of an unusual number of errors creeping into their transcriptions, mistakes they swore they hadn't made. Morale amongst the clerks and runners plummeted; they moved through the corridors with hesitant steps, casting nervous glances into shadowed corners, their usual bureaucratic bustle replaced by a strained, anxious quiet.
Then came the whispers. Not the usual gossip of clerks or the pleas of petitioners, but something else, faint and sibilant, seeming to emanate from the very walls, especially in the main courtroom and the damp, seldom-used lower levels where old holding cells lay empty. The whispers were indistinct, like dry leaves skittering on stone, yet sometimes they seemed to carry fragments of words – echoes of old judgments, desperate pleas, sharp accusations, or chilling, sorrowful sighs. Cold spots lingered inexplicably in certain rooms, particularly Magistrate Feng’s private office, impervious to the warmth of braziers.
Magistrate Feng, a man priding himself on rationality, initially blamed drafts, poor acoustics, and the overactive imaginations of his staff. But he couldn't entirely ignore his own growing unease. He slept poorly within the Yamen residence, troubled by dreams filled with echoing gavels, weeping shadows, and the weight of unseen eyes watching him. He found his own judgment becoming clouded, feeling waves of irrational irritation or profound weariness wash over him while reviewing cases in his office. Decisions felt harder, clarity elusive. The Yamen, intended as the seat of order, felt steeped in a subtle, pervasive chaos.
The most direct experiences fell upon young Scribe Lin Mo, a diligent and sensitive man recently assigned to the Yamen archives, located in a dusty chamber adjacent to the old holding cells. Lin Mo reported scrolls shifting on shelves when no one was near, the scent of phantom incense or stale blood appearing suddenly in the air, and the whispers coalescing into distinct, albeit fleeting, words – fragments of names, dates, accusations of injustice. He felt a constant, draining pressure, a profound sense of sorrow and anger clinging to the archives, making concentration almost impossible. He grew pale and withdrawn, his meticulous brushstrokes becoming hesitant and uneven.
It was the Head Clerk, Bai Yongnian, who held the key, though he guarded it fearfully. Bai was elderly, his face a parchment of wrinkles, having served briefly in the Yamen decades ago, just before it was shuttered. He remembered the stories, the reasons for its closure. He knew the building's reputation wasn't just superstition. Seeing Magistrate Feng's growing strain and Lin Mo's obvious distress, Bai Yongnian wrestled with his loyalty and his fear.
The crisis came during a complex land dispute case involving two powerful local families. Magistrate Feng found himself struggling to remain impartial. Sitting in judgment in the echoing courtroom, he felt waves of irrational anger directed towards one party, while the whispers from the walls seemed to subtly reinforce arguments favouring the other. He felt his clarity slipping, his judgment dangerously swayed by an influence he couldn't pinpoint but viscerally felt. Shaken, he recessed the court, retreating to his office where the cold spot seemed deeper, the sense of being watched more intense than ever. He finally acknowledged that the Yamen itself was sick, afflicted by something beyond faulty construction or nervous staff. That evening, he summoned Head Clerk Bai.
Under Feng's strained insistence, Bai Yongnian finally recounted the Yamen's dark history. He spoke of Magistrate Gao, fifty years prior, notoriously corrupt, who had amassed a fortune through bribes and false judgments before hanging himself in the very office Feng now occupied, leaving behind a legacy of bitterness and ruined lives. He spoke of the harsh interrogations and alleged tortures conducted in the lower cells during periods of political upheaval, of prisoners dying under mysterious circumstances, their grievances never addressed. He spoke of specific cases where injustice was widely suspected but never proven, the victims' families left destitute and resentful. "This building, Your Honour," Bai concluded, his voice trembling, "has soaked up too much sorrow, too much anger, too much injustice. Its walls remember. They whisper."
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Magistrate Feng listened, a cold dread settling over him. He wasn't dealing with mere inefficiency; he was sitting in judgment within a vessel saturated with the psychic residue of centuries of human misery and corruption. He understood now why his own judgment felt clouded, why the atmosphere felt toxic. He needed help, not from architects or more guards, but from someone who understood the energies Bai described. He had heard, through official channels discussing unusual events in other prefectures, of a wandering Taoist named Xuanzhen, known for resolving disturbances rooted in place and spirit. Discreetly, urgently, he sent a messenger to locate him.
Xuanzhen arrived in Tanzhou a few days later, responding to the Magistrate's carefully worded request for 'geomantic consultation'. Entering the Yamen, he felt the oppressive weight immediately. The qi was thick, stagnant, cold, tasting of stale ink, fear, resentment, and the metallic tang of old blood overlaid with the dry rustle of bureaucratic obsession. It clung to the stone walls like damp moss, strongest in the courtroom, Feng's office, and particularly in the lower levels near the old cells. He saw the anxiety etched on the faces of the clerks, the haunted look in Scribe Lin's eyes, the carefully masked strain on Magistrate Feng himself.
He spent a day ostensibly surveying the building's layout and elemental alignments, but truly, he was listening – listening to the stones, to the air, to the echoes held within. He heard the whispers Bai had described, felt the cold spots, sensed the fragmented emotional residues: the sharp spike of a corrupt official's greed, the dull ache of a prisoner's despair, the burning fury of an unjust verdict, the chilling emptiness of a life ending in hopelessness within these walls. It was, as he suspected, a 'haunting of place', a genius loci twisted into sickness by accumulated human suffering. The building itself had become a psychic amplifier, reflecting and magnifying the negative emotions generated within it, subtly influencing the minds and decisions of its current occupants.
He confirmed his assessment with Magistrate Feng and Head Clerk Bai. "This Yamen is saturated with the echoes of past suffering and injustice," Xuanzhen stated gravely. "Its very walls hold a memory of resentment that now clouds judgment and breeds unease. It is not possessed by a single entity, but afflicted by a collective psychic weight, a field of disharmony. To restore order, the building itself must be cleansed, and the past acknowledged."
He proposed a comprehensive purification ritual, one that required the participation of the Magistrate and his staff, not just as observers, but as active agents in acknowledging and releasing the building's burden. Magistrate Feng, desperate and now convinced, readily agreed.
The ritual spanned several hours, beginning as the sun reached its zenith. Xuanzhen first directed the clearing of the main courtyard, establishing a central altar with purifying elements: clear water, sea salt, burning mugwort and peach wood incense, and mirrors positioned to reflect sunlight into the Yamen's shadowed entrance.
He then led Magistrate Feng, Head Clerk Bai, Scribe Lin, and a small group of willing staff through the entire building, starting from the damp, oppressive lower cells. In the cells, Xuanzhen sprinkled salt and pure water, chanting mantras of release for trapped spirits and acknowledging the suffering endured there. He asked Magistrate Feng to speak words aloud, formally apologizing on behalf of the office for any past cruelties or neglect suffered by those held within.
They moved upwards, cleansing each floor, each office, each corridor. Xuanzhen used resonant bronze bells, striking them rhythmically, their clear tones vibrating through the stone, designed to shatter stagnant energy patterns and disperse the psychic residue. He placed small talismans inscribed with characters for peace (安 - ān) and clarity (明 - míng) above key doorways. Scribe Lin assisted by carefully wiping down surfaces near where whispers were strongest with cloths dipped in blessed water.
The climax took place in the main courtroom. The air here felt thickest, coldest, humming with the echoes of countless judgments, both fair and foul. Xuanzhen had Magistrate Feng sit in the judge's seat, not to preside, but to represent the authority of the office. Head Clerk Bai stood beside him, representing the continuity of administration. Xuanzhen stood before them, facing the empty room where petitioners and accused once stood.
He began a powerful chant, invoking celestial guardians of justice and order, calling upon the righteous qi of Heaven and Earth to flow into the chamber, displacing the accumulated resentment. He acknowledged the complexities of human law, the fallibility of judgment, the pain caused by both corruption and honest error. He asked for forgiveness for past wrongs committed within these walls and prayed for clarity, compassion, and true justice to guide all future proceedings. He visualized the heavy, dark energy dissolving, replaced by clear, balanced light.
As he chanted, the whispers seemed to rise to a final crescendo, swirling around the room like unseen dust devils, then abruptly ceased. A palpable shift occurred – the oppressive weight lifted, the unnatural cold dissipated, replaced by a feeling of clean neutrality. Sunlight streaming through the high windows seemed brighter, clearer. Magistrate Feng visibly relaxed, the strain easing from his face, his eyes clearing as if a fog had lifted from his mind. Scribe Lin straightened up, breathing deeply, the haunted look fading. Head Clerk Bai murmured a quiet prayer of thanks.
The Yamen felt different – still ancient, still imposing, but no longer actively malevolent or oppressive. It felt like a vessel cleansed, ready to serve its proper function without the distorting influence of its own troubled past.
Xuanzhen advised Magistrate Feng on ways to maintain this newfound balance: regular airing and smudging with cleansing herbs, placing symbols of justice and clarity (like clear quartz crystals or representations of righteous figures) in key locations, and fostering an atmosphere of transparency and fairness among his staff to avoid accumulating new resentments.
Leaving the now-harmonized Yamen, Xuanzhen reflected on the pervasive nature of psychic residue. Places, especially those associated with intense human emotion like courthouses and prisons, absorbed the energies enacted within them. Injustice, corruption, and despair could stain stone as surely as ink stained paper, creating environments that subtly poisoned the present. Cleansing such places required not just ritual, but a conscious acknowledgement of the past and a commitment to fostering balance and justice in the future, lest the whispering walls begin to speak again.
