The Ghost Festival

The entire city suddenly became restless.

"Look! The boundary is loosening!" someone shouted, pointing into the distance. I looked – on the horizon, the originally blurred void cracked open with a crimson fissure, like a vicious wound.

"That's the gate to the living world for ghosts," a thin, white-haired old man squatting by the roadside smoking said. His ashtray was piled with incense ashes. "Every year on this day, the barrier between the two worlds is thinnest. Some deceased can apply for a pass to return for two hours. Different from the monthly visits, during the Ghost Festival, we can transform into animals, interact with relatives and friends, convey some information." He took a deep drag; the cigarette butt glowed faintly red. "But you must apply three months in advance, within one hour after the waiting ritual, with the administrator. But I haven't seen you; you've only been here about a month, right?"

"Yes, just one month and 14 days."

I noticed the old man's left hand had three black karma threads wrapped around the finger joints – marks of punishment. One with burn marks was for crossing death zones without approval; the other two, like tattoos, were warnings for overstaying in the living world.

"Can the living come here?" My heartbeat accelerated. The old man grinned, revealing yellowed teeth. "The living? If they come, they can't return." He pointed below the fissure. "See those points of light? All lost living souls. Soon, they'll be taken directly, ascended." Indeed, at the base of the crimson fissure, countless firefly-like blue points of light wandered aimlessly. One was particularly bright, vaguely resembling a little girl's silhouette. Perhaps she wanted to find her deceased grandmother... unfortunately...

A wild idea suddenly occurred to me – if I charged in without a pass, could I truly touch my parents once? Even for just a second?

Just then, alarms blared throughout the city. The messengers' voices came from all directions: "All souls, note: the boundary opens for only thirty more minutes. Crossers must hold a pass. Those violating rules more than twice will be taken to the bottom layer of the Void compulsorily."

The old man suddenly stubbed out his cigarette. "Girl, want to try?" He pulled a yellowed pass from his chest, stamped with a blood-red special seal. "I know I'm old, about to face the second death. No need for it anymore. But on one condition—"

His eyes suddenly turned completely black. "If you see my granddaughter, tell her grandpa's passbook is hidden…"

Before he finished, his body began to turn sandy, as if erased bit by bit by an invisible eraser. Only the pass floated to the ground. He died a second time. Where would he go now... No, I had no time to think!

As I bent to pick up the pass, I seemed to hear a familiar cry from deep within the fissure – Mom calling my childhood nickname.

I clutched the pass and rushed toward the fissure.

The old man's ashes were scattered by the gloomy wind, seemingly condensing into a line of warning in the air: "Do not linger too long in the living world." Mom's cries seemed to come again. I leaped into the crimson gap.

The moment I crossed, my spirit body was torn into strands. Skin peeled away, revealing glowing meridians underneath; every nerve ending flashed red light. Attachments took form. "Become... a butterfly!"

In the agonizing pain of collapsing bones, I felt wings burst from my shoulder blades. The newly born scaly wings were as fragile as paper. When the last wing fully expanded, I smelled the autumn night of the human world – the wind carried smell of osmanthus fragrans (a kind of Hangzhou famous flower)and fruit, along with the scorched smell of burning joss paper, warming my face until it felt hot.

Mom and dad sat on a stone bench. At her feet were piles of my photos; the ashes in the brazier swirled in the wind. I landed on her trembling hand, my six feet sensing the flow of blood beneath her skin.

"...Is it you?" she suddenly whispered. "If it is, flutter your wings."

Suppressing all emotion, I struggled to flap my wings. She suddenly hummed a lullaby, one she often sang when I had a fever as a child. I fluttered my damaged wings even more desperately, but saw my falling scales drop into her crystal-clear tears.

"We dreamed of you again last night. You said you were cold over there, so lonely... Are you happy there? Do you have enough food to eat?"

"Why are you talking to a butterfly… look, let's burn more joss paper for her, so she doesn't always go for cheap stuff..." Dad burned money, holding my grieving mom.

"I'm sorry, sorry... Mom misses you too much..." Mom wiped her tears. "Mom puts candy in your favorite childhood candy jar every day... If you come back... you can have some..."

"Dang—" A temple bell sounded in the distance.

My butterfly body was suddenly pulled up by an invisible force. I couldn't continue listening to her. She could only watch as a butterfly pretending to be her daughter flew away indifferently. Before completely dissipating, I used my proboscis to catch one of her tears. This salty weight made me fall three seconds faster than other souls when crossing back to the death world – enough to etch her gentle gaze as she looked up at the butterfly into my memory.