Return to Daliang Village

"Hrmmm…" The hand seal radiated outward from Zhou Yang as its center, spreading like water ripples, and soon filled the room. Beneath the shroud of those 'ripples,' an extraordinary change suddenly came over Zhou Yang's plain, ordinary room. On the door frame and the rammed-earth walls around it, the 'ripples' lit up a layer of blackish-green mold. That layer of mold writhed beneath the ripples, then suddenly congealed into the faces of the Zhou family members— Huang Shaodiao, Zhou Laogou, Zhou Baigou… The faces of the three Zhou family members writhed madly, trying to squeeze out through the cracks of the door and escape this room of Zhou Yang's that was shrouded in hand-seal ripples—yet as the ripples swept over them, they peeled away from the wall, layer by layer. His senses linked to the hand-seal ripples spreading around him, Zhou Yang in an instant recognized that those faces of mold peeled from the wall were in fact the ghost rhythm of the Zhou family's parents and eldest brother. The three Zhou family members had once lingered in his room, and that had left this room stained with their ghost rhythm. Only Zhou Heigou's ghost rhythm was missing from among them. Zhou Heigou was not a ghost. But those other three were all genuine, dyed-in-the-wool ghosts! In all of Guancun, the villagers Zhou Yang greeted face-to-face day after day were most likely all ghosts! Chang Dafeng, troupe leader of the 'Dengtai Liyuan Troupe' outside, had lived most of his life, and the times he had come face-to-face with a ghost were probably few. Encountering a few gui calamities was already an extraordinary experience for him. But now, here was Zhou Yang, living right in the middle of a den of ghosts! And among that host of ghosts, there might even be something more terrifying than ghosts… With a weight pressing on his heart like a block of iron, Zhou Yang pushed down these tangled thoughts and gathered his attention back onto the hand-seal ripples around his body. The ghost rhythm peeled from the wall had already been thoroughly erased by layer upon layer of hand seals. "Beneath the coverage of the hand-seal ripples, one can erase the clinging ghost rhythm all around. This is one of the basic applications of the ripples. "Beyond that…" Zhou Yang's mind stirred, and the palm-print ripples expanding in layers around his body suddenly drew in their five fingers, folding into a fist seal. The fist seal contracted inward toward Zhou Yang's body, quickly gathering into a point of light. The point of light drifted with Zhou Yang's gaze and, in a moment, sank into the skin of his right hand. The Ghost's Mouths on his right hand shut in an instant, and his gaunt palm faintly took on a lustrous sheen. Zhou Yang did not feel the strength of his right hand lessen in the least: "When the ripples gather onto a part of the body, that part gains the power to tear open—even erase—ghost rhythm. "This way of using the ripples in a concentrated manner can bring greater power than the earlier 'ripple circulation.' "And the 'fist-seal ripple' has one more transformation…" Beneath Zhou Yang's gaze, his right hand—which had been faintly gleaming—suddenly darkened, and a deathly pall spread over his palm. Ghost's Mouths covered it all over. Though these Ghost's Mouths still breathed in and out, they no longer made any ghostly wail. Zhou Yang stared at his palm, his gaze piercing through the skin, and saw the single deathly, lifeless point of light beneath it—the root cause of his right hand turning like a dead man's hand. The point of light trembled faintly, and the Ghost's Mouths on Zhou Yang's right hand all twisted and began to sing opera: "My beloved dwells within my heart, yet I am in the hour of heartbreak; my wounded heart—only the moon can know it…" The opera singing from these Ghost's Mouths on his right hand was shrill and horrifying, faintly resembling Huang Shaodiao's voice, yet tinged with a hint of Zhou Laogou's and Zhou Baigou's intonation. Before, in Daliang Village, Zhou Yang had joined forces with Ding Ling's Right Thought to make the Ghost's Mouths sing along with him. Relying solely on his own Right Thought to make the Ghost's Mouths produce sound was still exceedingly difficult. But now he used the ripples to make the Ghost's Mouths give voice. "The Ghost's Mouths are, perhaps, a reflection of a ghost's power upon the human body. "To truly command the Ghost's Mouths on one's body and make them sound as I wish, besides using Right Thought at an absolutely superior position to subdue them and force them to obey me, there is another method… "And that is to have a ghost command the Ghost's Mouths. "My ripples can, while erasing ghost rhythm, transform into the breath that matches that ghost rhythm. "These Ghost's Mouths on my body mistook my ripples for the Zhou family's ghosts, and thereby obeyed my will." Zhou Yang's expression was satisfied. The sounds produced by the Ghost's Mouths could affect ghosts. Before, Zhou Yang had had to fuse with Ding Ling's Right Thought, and only by a lucky coincidence could he force the Ghost's Mouths to make a sound. Now, relying on the ripples born of Ghost Breath, he could command some of the Ghost's Mouths on his body—naturally, he was immensely satisfied. He opened that copy of the Knife-Credit Ledger, letting the ripples circulate back and forth around his body. The ripples were in fact a fusion of humanity's Right Thought and ghost breath, with Right Thought as the dominant force. Thus, as long as Zhou Yang's Right Thought was not exhausted, the ripples could keep operating without end. And since every person's temperament differs and their experiences vary, would the shape of the ripples that evolved after learning this 'Ghost Breath' also differ? Did Afu have the skill to wield the ripples? A few such thoughts flashed through Zhou Yang's mind. Zhou Yang's gaze fell on the page, looking at the 'Abilities' section of his own record: "Abilities: blacksmithing, Ghost Breath (Right Thought Lock, eighth layer), Ghost Breath (spirit ripple)… (rubbed)…" "The Right Thought Lock is still stuck at the eighth layer, yet I clearly rubbed in Ding Ling's Right Thought Lock to strengthen myself…" Zhou Yang's gaze shifted, and the writing in the Knife-Credit Ledger gave him a faint conjecture. "Three Good Deeds should be enough to rub in one layer of Ding Ling's Right Thought Lock; stacked upon my own Right Thought Lock, which has reached the eighth layer, it is equivalent to cultivating the Right Thought Lock to perfection ahead of time. "And the spirit ripple is an ability that arises after the Right Thought Lock's cultivation reaches perfection. "From here on, when my Right Thought Lock is cultivated to perfection, new abilities may still arise from it." Zhou Yang's heart pounded. If it were truly so, then those three Good Deeds would have been more than worth it. He now effectively possessed, ahead of schedule, an ability that should only emerge after the Right Thought Lock's ninth layer. "Five Good Deeds remain." Zhou Yang flipped to the second page of the Knife-Credit Ledger and glanced at the 'Draft of Playing Gods and Painting Ghosts (Opening Door)' entry under Ding Ling's abilities. If he could also rub in Ding Ling's Opening Door warding spirit, then in Guancun he would no longer have to run the risk of performing the 'Opening Door ritual' all over again. But— As Zhou Yang's gaze settled, the Knife-Credit Ledger did not give him the response he wanted: "The Eight Doors are unsettled; the Opening Door has not manifested. "With no foundation in place, the retribution body's 'Draft of Playing Gods and Painting Ghosts (Opening Door)' cannot be rubbed." Zhou Yang froze at the words. The Eight Doors unsettled, the Opening Door not manifested, no foundation in place? Was this saying that he had not yet opened the first of the Eight Doors outside his body—the 'Opening Door'—and so could not rub in this ability of Ding Ling's? In an instant Zhou Yang grasped the meaning of the ink characters that had shown on the page; he was somewhat disappointed, but not overly so. As for the 'Opening Door ritual,' he had made some preparations after all. At once, Zhou Yang walked to the edge of the bed, stripped off his outer robe and trousers, carefully scraped away the yellow mud that stained his cuffs and trouser hems, wrapped it in straw paper, and hid it beneath that clay furnace. The yellow mud in the paper packet was, of course, the mud that carried Cao Qing's dead person's breath. Then Zhou Yang tied one leg to the bedpost at the foot of the bed, arranging things exactly as he had the night before: he lay down on the couch, pulled the covers over himself, and flipped the Knife-Credit Ledger to Ding Ling's page. "You have taken up the knife-credit. Will you post it to the account?" "Post it." Zhou Yang gave his answer in his heart. In the darkness before his eyes, ripples suddenly arose, layer upon layer. As before, chaotic images unfolded through Zhou Yang's mind like a revolving lantern. In that instant, as if a current had shot through his very soul, Zhou Yang recalled every experience he had had in Daliang Village, one by one, until it all fixed on what he had seen and heard in the last moment before he left Daliang Village: A dilapidated courtyard, right at the center of its skywell. With his back to Zhou Yang, the opera ghost was drawing his brows and painting his eyes, his words carrying an operatic lilt: "Still, what a pity—a pity my comprehension is too shallow and my horizons too narrow. Otherwise, I could melt all the operas of every school into one, and with a stroke of originality, devise a new opera the Opera Goddess has never heard, and entrance her with it. Then I could turn this skin of mine inside out all the sooner, and wear my garment the other way around. "Once this skin is turned inside out, this voice of mine will sound like a woman's through and through…" … "Devise a new opera the Opera Goddess has never heard, and I can entrance the 'Opera Goddess'…" Zhou Yang's thoughts raced. In this last instant as his heart-soul set out for Daliang Village, a flash of insight suddenly flickered to life in his mind.