Lin'an, the Southern Song capital, breathed a collective sigh of relief. The triennial provincial examinations had concluded, unleashing thousands of hopeful scholars back into the city's bustling embrace – some elated, most crestfallen, all profoundly exhausted. Left behind, standing vast and suddenly silent under the autumn sky, was the Gongyuan, the sprawling Examination Hall complex. This was no ordinary academy; it was a city within a city, a labyrinth of seemingly endless rows of tiny, identical cells, each barely large enough for a man, a small table, and the crushing weight of expectation. During the grueling days of the examination, this place had hummed with frantic energy – the scratching of brushes, the rustle of paper, the desperate prayers whispered under breath, the sheer, concentrated force of thousands of minds striving, hoping, fearing. Now, emptied of its human tide, the Gongyuan felt unnaturally still, yet the silence was deceptive. It held echoes, imprinted on the very air, the plastered walls, the worn wooden tables – the psychic residue of immense intellectual effort, soaring ambition, and devastating despair.

  Overseeing the complex's closure and maintenance fell to Magistrate Hong Renjie, a newly appointed official eager to prove his competence. A pragmatic man, focused on logistics and security, Hong initially dismissed the scattered reports from the caretakers and guards assigned to the now-empty halls as fanciful notions born of exhaustion or the eerie silence. But the reports persisted, growing stranger, more consistent. Caretakers spoke of scrolls inexplicably unrolling themselves in locked storage rooms, the faint but distinct sound of brushes scratching on paper heard from empty cells late at night, and an unnerving feeling of being watched by unseen eyes within the vacant corridors. Guards patrolling the perimeter walls reported seeing fleeting lights flickering in the windows of cells known to be empty, accompanied by sighs or frustrated groans carried on the night wind.

  Most disturbing were the experiences of the small team of clerks, led by young Scribe Wei Ming, tasked with cataloging leftover supplies and abandoned items within the examination cells themselves. Wei Ming, a sensitive soul with a scholarly bent, found the work increasingly unbearable. Entering the tiny, cramped cells felt like stepping into pockets of intense, lingering emotion. In one cell, he might be overwhelmed by a wave of triumphant elation so strong it left him giddy and breathless; in the next, a crushing despair could descend, bringing tears to his eyes for no discernible reason. He heard phantom whispers – fragments of classical texts, half-formed arguments, desperate pleas to Guan Yin – seeming to emanate from the walls themselves. Papers he had neatly stacked would be found scattered, sometimes arranged into nonsensical patterns. The air in certain rows of cells felt thick, heavy, making concentration impossible, inducing headaches and a profound, draining fatigue. One afternoon, while cataloging items in a cell reportedly used by a candidate who suffered a mental breakdown during the exam, Wei Ming experienced a terrifying moment of dislocation – seeing the cell walls momentarily covered in frantic, overlapping script that wasn't there, hearing a chorus of mocking laughter, before collapsing, deeply shaken.

  He reported his experiences to Magistrate Hong, his usual diligence overcome by genuine fear. Hong listened, his skepticism warring with the young scribe's evident distress and the mounting consistency of other reports. He consulted Old Liu, the head caretaker, a man whose family had served the Gongyuan for generations, his face a network of wrinkles that seemed to hold the dust and secrets of the place.

  "The Halls... they remember, Your Honour," Old Liu murmured, his voice raspy, avoiding the Magistrate's direct gaze. "All those years... all those hopes... all that fear... poured into these little boxes. Especially the ones where... well, where spirits were broken. Sometimes, the echoes linger. They get stirred up after the crowds leave. Best to let the place rest, air out its memories, before locking it tight." He hinted at past incidents, quickly hushed up – caretakers driven mad, strange illnesses, unexplained noises that eventually faded with time and neglect.

  Magistrate Hong felt a chill despite his pragmatism. He couldn't afford delays or rumors of haunting spreading through the capital, especially with preparations for the next examination cycle needing to begin eventually. He needed the halls cleared, secured, and demonstrably free of any... irregularities. Recalling discussions with colleagues about unusual incidents resolved elsewhere by a wandering Taoist named Xuanzhen, known for his discreet handling of matters involving disturbed energies and troubled places, Hong decided on a course of action that balanced practicality with the undeniable strangeness unfolding. He sent a discreet message, requesting a consultation with Master Xuanzhen regarding the 'harmonization of energies' within the recently vacated Gongyuan, framing it as a measure to ensure peace and auspiciousness before sealing the complex.

  Xuanzhen arrived a few days later, entering the vast, silent Examination Halls with Magistrate Hong and Old Liu. The scale of the place was overwhelming – row upon row of identical, claustrophobic cells stretching away under long, tiled roofs, separated by narrow, echoing flagstone paths. The air felt thick, stagnant, yet vibrated with a chaotic multitude of residual psychic energies. It wasn't the focused malevolence of a single entity, nor the deep sorrow of a specific tragedy. It was something different: the accumulated psychic detritus of thousands upon thousands of minds stretched to their absolute limit, a vast, resonating field of intellectual fervor, desperate hope, agonizing anxiety, crushing disappointment, and occasionally, the sharp tang of cheating or profound injustice. It was the 'Examination Echo', a complex, multi-layered haunting born of collective human striving and suffering.

  He walked the narrow corridors, pausing occasionally to place a hand on the rough plaster wall of a cell. He could feel the lingering imprints – here, the frantic energy of a mind racing against time; there, the dull ache of utter exhaustion; in another, a sharp spike of triumphant realization; further down, the cold dread of failure. He understood immediately why Scribe Wei was so affected – the young man's sensitivity was acting like a tuning fork, resonating with these powerful residual emotions.

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  He visited the cell where Wei Ming had collapsed. The oppressive energy here was particularly strong, thick with the psychic residue of breakdown and despair. Xuanzhen could almost see the phantom script Wei had described, feel the echo of the shattered mind. He also visited the storage rooms, feeling the subtle displacement of qi where scrolls had reportedly moved.

  "This place is not haunted by ghosts in the way most understand it, Magistrate Hong," Xuanzhen explained later, standing in the central courtyard under the watchful eyes of the main administrative building. "It is saturated with the psychic residue of intense human emotion and mental effort. The Examination Echo. The walls, the tables, the very air holds the imprint of countless hopes and fears. When the halls fall silent, these echoes can coalesce, creating the phenomena your staff have witnessed. They are like ripples on a pond after a thousand stones have been thrown in."

  Magistrate Hong looked relieved yet still uneasy. "Echoes? Not vengeful spirits? Can these... echoes... harm anyone?"

  "Directly? Perhaps not in a physical sense," Xuanzhen clarified. "But they create profound imbalance. They drain vitality, cloud judgment, provoke anxiety and despair by forcing sensitive individuals to resonate with the accumulated negativity. Scribe Wei is particularly susceptible. Left untended, this psychic stagnation could indeed curdle into something more dangerous, attracting less benign influences, or simply rendering the halls unusable due to the oppressive atmosphere."

  "What can be done?" Hong asked, his pragmatism returning. "Can it be simply... cleaned away?"

  "It requires more than sweeping," Xuanzhen replied. "It needs harmonization. We must acknowledge the immense effort and emotion poured into this place, soothe the lingering anxieties and despairs, and gently disperse the stagnant energy, restoring balance and allowing the echoes to fade naturally."

  The ritual Xuanzhen devised was designed to cleanse and harmonize the entire complex, acknowledging the human element rather than simply banishing energy. It required the participation of Magistrate Hong (representing official authority and order), Old Liu (representing the history and spirit of the place), and Scribe Wei (representing those affected and the scholarly pursuit itself).

  They began at the main entrance gate at dawn, a time of renewal. Xuanzhen lit purifying incense – sandalwood mixed with herbs known for clearing mental fog, like borneol and calamus. He chanted opening verses invoking the celestial guardians of knowledge and clarity, asking for their blessing on the work.

  Then, they proceeded methodically through the complex. In each major section, Xuanzhen performed specific actions. In the corridors between the cells, he sprinkled water infused with salt and willow ash, visualizing the cleansing of pathways, washing away residual anxiety. He struck a clear-toned bell periodically, its vibrations designed to break up stagnant energy fields.

  In the storage rooms, he placed talismans inscribed with characters for order (序 - xù) and stillness (靜 - jìng) near the scroll racks, calming the agitated energy that caused objects to move.

  The most crucial part took place within several representative examination cells, including the one where Wei Ming had collapsed. Here, Xuanzhen guided Magistrate Hong, Old Liu, and Scribe Wei in a ritual of acknowledgement. They placed small offerings within the cell – a single lit candle (representing the scholar's inner light), a cup of clear water (representing clarity), and a few grains of uncooked rice (representing sustenance and potential). Xuanzhen then led them in speaking words aloud – acknowledging the immense effort, the hopes and fears experienced within that cell, offering respect for the striving spirit, and gently releasing any lingering despair or frustration, wishing peace upon the echoes. They repeated this in several key locations, focusing particularly on areas known for past difficulties or intense energy.

  Finally, they gathered in the central courtyard as the sun climbed higher. Xuanzhen established a temporary altar facing the main hall. Here, he performed the concluding harmonization. He burned paper offerings representing the successful completion of the examinations and the peaceful dispersal of the candidates. He chanted verses from the Daodejing emphasizing balance, the acceptance of outcomes, and the return to natural order. He visualized the chaotic psychic energy throughout the Gongyuan gently coalescing, being purified by the sunlight and the ritual intent, and then peacefully dissolving, absorbed back into the earth or carried away on the wind, leaving the complex energetically clean and neutral.

  As the final chant faded, a tangible shift occurred in the atmosphere. The heavy, oppressive feeling lifted completely. The air felt lighter, cleaner, the silence no longer pregnant with tension but simply calm and empty. The subtle psychic pressure vanished. Scribe Wei visibly relaxed, the haunted look finally leaving his eyes. Old Liu nodded slowly, a look of deep peace settling on his wrinkled face. Even Magistrate Hong felt the difference, a sense of clarity and order returning to his mind.

  "The echoes are soothed," Xuanzhen announced quietly. "The space is harmonized. It remembers the effort, but no longer holds the pain."

  He advised Magistrate Hong to ensure the halls were regularly aired and perhaps occasionally cleansed with simple incense burning, especially before the next examination cycle, to prevent such a heavy accumulation of psychic residue in the future. He also suggested rotating the duties of clerks like Wei Ming, acknowledging their sensitivity.

  Xuanzhen departed the Examination Halls, leaving Magistrate Hong to oversee the final locking and sealing with a newfound sense of ease. The incident was a unique encounter, highlighting how places dedicated to intense mental and emotional human activity could become saturated with psychic energy, creating phenomena as real and impactful as any ghost. The Examination Echo was a testament to the power of the human mind, both creative and destructive, and the profound need for balance, not just in the external world, but in the very spaces where human ambition and vulnerability converged so intensely. The halls stood silent again, truly at rest, awaiting the next wave of hopefuls, perhaps now a little less burdened by the weight of those who came before.