Firelight flickered into view, casting warmth against the dark.
Ergou let out a breath of relief, but the sight before him sent his heart straight back into his throat. A chill ran down his spine, and his limbs went weak.
Ahead lay a small mountain valley.
Near the rear of the valley stood a dilapidated Mountain God temple, long fallen into ruin. Several burly beggars stood guard outside, slick with grease and covered in festering sores.
Surrounding the ruined temple were tents of every size.
Campfires burned everywhere, each supporting a large iron cauldron.
At least several hundred beggars had gathered here.
The elderly were white-haired, gaunt, and hollow-eyed, squatting motionless like corpses without a shred of vitality.
The young were mere children of seven or eight, clad in tattered rags with soot-blackened faces. Some were crippled, huddling around the cauldrons to fan the flames with all their might.
These beggars of the Western Route had their own way of cooking.
They pooled whatever food they had begged—steamed buns, filled pastries, moldy flatbreads, and tavern table scraps alike—and dumped it all into the massive pots to boil.
Much of it had already turned sour, and the stench was foul beyond imagining.
Even so, the beggars squatted by the fires, swallowing their saliva.
What truly made Ergou's flesh crawl, however, was what lay on the other side.
In an open clearing, a pack of robust beggars had gathered, each clutching a dog-beating staff. They formed a wide circle, steadily drumming their staves against the ground.
At the center of the ring, a feral hound bolted about frantically.
Dogs from the mass graves fed on human carrion until their eyes turned blood-red. They grew as large as starving wolves, their skulls lumpy with massive calluses worn from years of battering coffins—vicious beasts by any measure.
Yet now, it was wild with panic, letting out frantic whines.
Trapped by the dense clatter of the dog-beating staves, it seemed to have lost its senses, running in circles as if caught in a ghost wall, unable to break past the perimeter.
Surrounding it were venomous serpents, rearing their heads with fangs bared and hissing sharply, striking whenever an opening appeared.
Before long, the hound succumbed to the venom. It collapsed, twitching stiffly.
The surrounding snakes swarmed over it at once, slithering into its mouth and orifices…
Ergou had never witnessed such an eerie spectacle. He froze in his tracks, limbs icy cold, not daring to move an inch.
"Keep moving! What are you waiting for?"
The old beggar leading the way turned back with a sharp bark.
"Right, right away."
Ergou hurried after him, ducking his head to keep as low a profile as possible.
He trailed closely behind the old beggar into the ruined temple.
"Old Master, the man has arrived."
The old beggar bowed in report, then stepped aside.
Ergou swallowed hard and stole a glance upward.
Upon the stone dais where the shrine's deity once stood, the idol of the Mountain God had long been hauled away. In its place lay an enormous, fleshy beggar.
He was of immense girth, lounging with his chest bared, rolls of fat piling up across his belly, his bald crown gleaming with grease.
As he reclined on his side, his flesh was likewise covered in scabs and sores.
This man was the head of Xianyang's Western Route beggars.
A mysterious figure, he had set down roots in Xianyang many years ago and rarely dealt with the city's street gangs. The beggars all called him Master Shan.
A pungent, suffocating stench washed over Ergou, making him want to gag, but he dared not let it show. He bowed respectfully with cupped hands. "This humble one greets Master Shan!"
"Mm."
Master Shan was so morbidly obese that his eyelids bulged like blisters; even when he tried to open them, they looked like mere slits to an onlooker.
He appraised Ergou from above, his tone neither warm nor cold. "The Iron Saber Gang… Your chief is that Old Monkey's disciple, isn't he?"
"We mind our own business and keep out of each other's way. What brings you here?"
Ergou cupped his hands again, wasting no time. "Our chief wishes to ask you to deal with a few outsiders who don't know the rules…"
After recounting what had happened, he drew several banknotes from his robe and offered a fawning smile. "For you, it would take no more effort than lifting a finger. This is a token of our gang's respect."
The banknotes totaled three hundred taels.
Truth be told, that was far more than what they had conned out of the troupe leader's son.
Yet at this stage, it was no longer about money.
Zheng Heibei would rather part with silver to see this matter smoothed over.
Master Shan glanced at the bills with utter indifference, waving a hand dismissively. "Take them back. We of the Qiongjia faction cannot keep money, nor do we serve as anyone's muscle."
"This…"
Ergou grew anxious. "Master Shan, we all scrape a living in Xianyang; our paths are bound to cross. If you lend a hand, the Iron Saber Gang will remember the favor."
The beggar chief pondered for a moment. "Favors mean nothing to me, and you can take your notes. But your gang will find someone for me."
Ergou was puzzled. He offered a dry laugh. "You must be joking, Master Shan. Your disciples and underlings span all of Xianyang. When it comes to news, you're far sharper than we are."
Master Shan replied flatly, "We are beggars of the Qiongjia faction, not old thieves from the Rong faction. Our ancestral rules forbid crossing a threshold. We pass through thousands of homes and visit tens of thousands of doors, but we only linger on the doorsteps.
"What's more, there are places where we're driven off the moment we draw near."
Understanding dawned on Ergou. "Who do you need us to find?"
Master Shan slowly sat up, scratching his greasy paunch.
"A few months ago, blade bandits raided Gushui Village outside the city, burning the entire place to the ground. You know of this?"
"This humble one knows."
Ergou smiled. "An inside traitor colluded with the bandits. What's laughable is that Squire Lu's concubine went around selling land like mad, cheating several families at once. Quite a piece of work, that woman.
"You're looking for her?
"To tell you the truth, we've been looking for that fat sheep ourselves."
"Not her,"
Master Shan said calmly. "The other concubine. If I'm not mistaken, she is hiding right here in Xianyang City!"
***
Just as Wang Daoxuan had predicted, the rain broke the following day, and the sky cleared.
Early that morning, the three arrived at the Spring Breeze Troupe's communal compound.
Wang Daoxuan had donned a clean Daoist robe. His ritual implements were packed into a framed woven crate resembling a scholar's book box, which Sha Lifei carried over his shoulder.
By the time they arrived, the members of the troupe were already gathered.
Since the Iron Saber Gang departed yesterday, no one had come knocking, allowing them a restful night. Yet everyone knew this was far from over.
No matter how innocent the troupe leader's son was or how badly he had been duped, the promissory notes forged by the Iron Saber Gang were legally airtight and would hold up anywhere.
Even if the thugs stopped harassing them, taking the matter to the yamen would still spell ruin for the troupe.
Anger, despair, and fury were useless; that was the reality of the world.
Folk like them had to steer clear of government officials in ordinary times, let alone ruthless scoundrels who operated between the light and the dark.
Back in Jinmen, the dock guilds were so brazen they even extorted imperial granaries and armories for resettlement funds!
Thus, only one path remained open to them:
Perform a ghost opera!
Such engagements were hardly rare. When an area suffered frequent misfortunes, when an ancestral hall grew restless, or when a wedding or funeral went awry—yet not enough to warrant hiring orthodox Xuanmen clerics to perform major exorcisms—people would hire troupes to stage a ghost opera to soothe the spirits, offering generous compensation.
And the very first step was to invoke a Yin deity capable of holding the stage.
Looking at the determined faces of the Spring Breeze Troupe, Wang Daoxuan sighed inward, though his expression grew solemn. "Everyone, do you understand the rules?
"I shall explain them once more.
"We set out at noon and reach the mass graves by nightfall. Once we locate a suitable spot, everyone must cleanse their hands. As I perform the ritual, you must silently chant the invocation verses…
"Remember this: once we are up on the mountain, no matter what beast you encounter, you must never call it by its true name. A tiger is 'Great Worm'; a bear is 'Old Master'; an eagle is 'First Master'; a hedgehog is 'Second Master Bai'; a fox is 'Third Master'; and any ghost or shade is 'Lord Qingfeng'…
"Even I cannot predict what entity we will draw out, so show utmost courtesy to all. You never know which one possesses cultivation and spiritual awareness and might decide to stir up trouble…
"Furthermore, not a single word may be spoken during the ritual.
"When I shout 'It has come,' you must all call out together, 'Received!' Then descend the mountain immediately. No matter what sounds you hear behind you, never look back…"
Wang Daoxuan laid out every detail with painstaking care, daring not leave the slightest room for error.
To be fair, many theatrical troupes knew how to invoke a spirit; some even performed the rite once a year to seek omens.
Encounters with sheep, dogs, oxen, or gentle spirits were auspicious omens, while a wild boar was best of all, signaling smooth fortune across all ventures.
A hare or flying bird, however, meant a year of ceaseless running around.
Of course, most troupes carried out the ritual on their own. Hearing the cry of an animal, they would turn and flee, never truly knowing whether they had invoked anything; sometimes it was purely ceremonial.
Yet for the Spring Breeze Troupe, things were entirely different.
If they wished to summon a stage-anchoring Yin deity without costing anyone their life, there could not be the slightest slip-up. Even the vaguest taboos had to be strictly observed.
While Wang Daoxuan explained the procedures, Sha Lifei sidled up to Li Yan, a worried frown creasing his brow as he whispered, "I went to the teahouse this morning and picked up some news.
"That Old Monkey Zhou Pan has already reached transformative jin, so he naturally won't step into the ring himself. But several of his disciples have mastered hidden jin, and they're all eager to beat you to death to win the old man's favor.
"I also heard something else. When your father, Li Hu, was still alive, he was sworn friends with Guan Wanche, the head bailiff of the Xianyang yamen. Why not ask him to mediate…?"
"Guan Wanche?"
Li Yan's brow furrowed, followed by a scoff. "When my father was alive, he never once mentioned such a man, and the fellow has never crossed our threshold in all these years. Even if they knew each other, they couldn't have been close.
"For this ring match, I can only rely on myself!"
"Rely on yourself?"
Sha Lifei was fuming with exasperation. "How old are you? Even with all your talent, you're at the peak of clear jin at most! With a flick of the hand, their force will pierce right into your internal organs and make you spit blood!
"How are you going to fight? Step up there to get yourself killed?!"
Li Yan did not answer. Instead, he stared at his own palm, placed it gently against the trunk of a small nearby tree, drew a deep breath, and shoved down abruptly.
*Rustle—!*
A shower of leaves broke free, raining down across the entire tree…
Chapter 34