At the rooster’s first crow, the world turned bright.
Accompanying the village roosters' successive cries, a line dividing night and day emerged on the horizon. Yin qi sank away as yang qi rose, and human voices gradually drifted through the village.
"You lazy brat, why are you so useless?"
"Hurry up and feed the pigs! We still have to go into the fields soon..."
Li Yan had not slept all night. Holding his saber, he had stood vigil in the courtyard. Only upon hearing the distant neighbor scolding a child did he gently push open the wooden gate.
*Creak—*
The weathered wooden latch let out a grating, tooth-aching squeak.
Stepping outside, Li Yan looked up, his eyes filled with shock.
Much of the lacquer on the "Valiant in a Hundred Battles" plaque hanging above had peeled away, its corners showed distinct rot, and a crack had even split down the right side.
Li Yan did not understand the principle behind how this heirloom warded off evil; perhaps it had something to do with the imperial court.
Yet he could tell that after a single night, the plaque had suffered severe damage. If forced to endure another night, it might lose its power entirely.
And "Blind Old Third" had clearly only been driven back for now.
What was he to do?
Just as Li Yan was pondering a course of action, his grandfather Li Gui emerged from the room leaning on crutches.
The old man held his long pipe, intending to take a few puffs, but upon seeing Li Yan disheveled and standing outside the gate with saber in hand, he immediately scolded, "You boy, you practice your saber so hard you don't even eat, and now you can't even put your clothes on right?"
"Don't go looming at the gate scaring folks first thing in the morning. I'll go fix you something to eat."
With that, he hobbled toward the kitchen on his crutches.
Advanced in years, he had heard none of the commotion from the previous night.
Li Yan opened his mouth, intending to stop him, but at a moment like this he had no mind to cook. Hurrying into the house, he put his clothes on properly.
Peasant clothing was never elaborate, mostly sewn from coarse black homespun. Now that the weather was warming up, folks wore only single-layered garments.
The trousers, however, were usually baggy and shapeless, falling straight down; without leg bindings tied around the shins, moving around was thoroughly inconvenient.
Once dressed, he stepped out and hurried toward the village entrance.
He already knew that Blind Old Third's carcass had been strung up in the great locust tree at the village entrance, but he had simply not bothered to go look. Who could have expected strange trouble to crop up last night?
Glancing back as he left and seeing the cooking smoke rising from the kitchen, he clenched his fists tight.
His grandfather was still home; he could not run away.
Whatever that thing was, he had to find a way to deal with it!
Now the warm sun was just rising over loess wheat fields, under blue skies and white clouds. Villagers came and went carrying hoes over their shoulders, painting an idyllic, leisurely pastoral scene.
Compared to the eerie terror of last night, it seemed like an entirely different world.
Blind Old Third's carcass hung from the great locust tree at the entrance of the village. Yesterday, rowdy children had pelted it until it was mangled and battered; now, passing idle men even chuckled and swung their hoes to give it an offhand smack.
Li Yan did not rush closer. Instead, he sniffed the air.
He was standing upwind right now, less than fifty meters away, yet that unique, foul, musky stench belonging to Blind Old Third could not be smelled at all.
It seemed like nothing more than an ordinary wolf carcass.
Frowning slightly, Li Yan approached to take a closer look, but still found nothing amiss.
Just then, a man walked past. Seeing this, he clicked his tongue and sighed, "What a waste! I said we ought to just eat the damn thing. Strung up here, it'll stink to high heaven in a couple days."
Li Yan was rather speechless, unsure of what to say.
The man was named Li Shuanzhu, a bachelor who never acted decent. Not only was he gluttonous, but he was notorious for his foul mouth, loved picking arguments, and was generally disliked by everyone.
If he had eaten this thing, he would probably have been the unlucky one last night.
Li Shuanzhu seemed entirely oblivious to how annoying he was and went on rambling to himself, "Widow Wang even said this thing brings bad luck, that we had to burn it and hold a ritual. Doesn't look like much to me..."
Li Yan was startled to hear this and hurriedly asked, "What else did she say?"
"What proper words could ever come out of her mouth?" Li Shuanzhu shook his head. "Her house stinks like a privy pit, and she babbles like a lunatic all day. What a waste..."
With that, he shouldered his hoe and swaggered off.
Li Yan paid him no mind. Casting a thoughtful glance back toward the village, he strode off toward Widow Wang's home without another word.
Before long, he arrived near Widow Wang's house.
It was an aged courtyard with its gate shut tight. Weeds grew wild along the base of the adobe walls, and heaps of clutter covered in thick dust were piled around.
By now, most of the villagers had already headed out to the fields, so there was hardly anyone around. The place looked almost like a deserted old homestead.
The moment Li Yan drew near, his brows furrowed deeply.
Aside from the Earth God Temple, the only suspicious place in the village was Widow Wang's home. But that musky, rank stench combined with the foul odor was absolute torture to his nose.
Furthermore, gossip always swirled around a widow's door. Fearing village chatter, he had rarely come near this place despite his curiosity.
Now, however, he had no choice. Blind Old Third had to be dealt with, and Widow Wang might know something...
*Squeak—*
Just as he was about to step forward, the wooden gate suddenly swung open, and Widow Wang—unkempt, disheveled, and deathly pale—poked her head out.
She first peered cautiously behind Li Yan, her eyes brimming with wariness, before murmuring in a trembling voice, "Come inside. The Xianjia wants to see you."
Hearing this, Li Yan was caught off guard.
Widow Wang actually knew he was coming!
And... Xianjia?
Li Yan raised his guard, but his face remained expressionless. Resting a hand lightly on his saber hilt, he strode into the small courtyard.
The moment he stepped inside, a suffocating stench slammed into him.
Li Yan's sense of smell was far keener than ordinary people's, making this an absolute torment. He hurriedly held his breath, furrowing his brow as he looked around.
He saw rotten wood stacked in a ring along the corners of the courtyard walls, alongside pickle jars filled with some foul, decayed liquid. A layer of white scum floated on the surface, and dense swarms of flies buzzed all around.
The stench here rivaled a latrine pit.
Unable to bear it any longer, Li Yan clamped a hand over his nose. Just as he was about to speak, his gaze locked onto something, catching sight of an anomaly.
These jars holding filthy dregs seemed scattered at random, but their arrangement was deliberate—clearly positioned according to the Eight Gates: Open, Rest, Life, Harm, Concealment, Bright, Death, and Alarm.
Having practiced martial arts and saber techniques, he possessed some understanding of such formations.
Was there a hidden purpose behind this setup?
Before he could dwell on it, Widow Wang softly pushed open the door to the house and gestured for him to follow.
The way she opened the door was peculiar as well: she drew it open just a crack from the side and hung a cloth door curtain to block the light, as if afraid a gust of wind might blow inside.
*Good grief, women doing postpartum confinement aren't kept this sealed up...*
With doubt deepening in his mind, Li Yan followed her into the house.
Unexpectedly, the smell inside was far less overpowering than in the courtyard, though the room was dim and stiflingly hot. That musky, gamey rankness laced with incense grew ever more pungent.
Li Yan's gaze was instantly drawn to the room's furnishings.
Against the center wall stood a square altar table laden with four plates of steamed buns, three plates of melons and fruits, as well as roast chicken, slabs of fatty pork, and wine jars.
Three sticks of incense stood planted in an incense burner, flanked by dim candlelight on either side.
Behind the offerings sat an enshrined wooden tablet pasted with red paper in the middle, inscribed with: *The Seat of Third Aunt Hu*. Flanking it was a small couplet:
*Cultivating truth and nature deep in the mountains,*
*Emerging from the ancient cave to spread renown across the four seas.*
*Chuma Xian?*
Li Yan paused, faint memories from his past life flooding back.
In his past life, aside from dealing in various antiques, he had also dabbled in folklore.
This practice originated from primordial shamanic traditions and was prevalent in the northeast, divided into Baojia Xian—household guardian spirits—and Chuma Xian—medium spirits. In the Guanzhong region, it was relatively rare.
Come to think of it, Widow Wang had been bought by her late husband from a human trafficker, and he vaguely recalled someone mentioning that she had indeed hailed from the northeast.
Yet what drew his attention even more was the space before the altar table.
Red wooden pegs were driven into the dirt floor, cordoned off by a red string. A neatly dressed, clean-faced little girl lay inside the ring.
Her eyes were closed as if she had fallen unconscious, her eyelids trembling incessantly.
What was even more bizarre was that from her head down to her shoulders and arms, the skin over several acupoints twitched faintly, vibrating like drumheads.
What was she doing?
Everything before his eyes struck Li Yan as surreal.
Yet since last night, much of what he understood had been overturned; he now knew this world was far from simple, that another kind of power truly existed.
Widow Wang offered no explanation. Instead, she lifted a large red cloth from a stand beside the altar, revealing a drum.
The Bagua was painted across the drumhead, while eight strings ran behind it—four facing north and four facing south—strung with copper coins that chimed crisply when lifted.
Under the handle of the drum mallet hung strips of multicolored and red cloth.
*The King Wen drum and King Wu whip?*
Li Yan narrowed his eyes, his interest piqued.
In this world, perhaps it was not merely folklore...
Upon taking up the drum and whip, Widow Wang seemed to transform into a completely different person. Shoulders shaking and head bobbing, she beat the drum while circling the red cord on the ground.
*Dong! Dong! Dong-dong!*
The booming drumbeats fell into a steady rhythm. Widow Wang's demeanor shifted as well, shedding her timid meekness for a solemn, austere air as she began to chant:
"The sun sinks behind the western hills, the heavens turn dark;
Every hearth and household drops the wooden bar.
Traveling gentlemen hurry to the inn;
Birds flee to the woods, tigers return to the peaks.
Birds in the woods find a place to rest;
Tigers on the mountain abide in peace..."
As the incantation began, her accent shifted with it.
Li Yan had witnessed such scenes in his past life.
The spectacle was familiar, yet his extraordinary sense of smell revealed something entirely different.
He could smell that, as the drumbeats vibrated, the musky rankness steeped in incense drifting through the surrounding air seemed to find its vessel.
Pulsing to the rhythm, it converged relentlessly toward the center...
Chapter 6