Zhu Ping's shout drew an echo from every mountain around them, and everyone's spirits doubled. They crowded forward.
When they came close, there was indeed a grave.
Half the mound had already thrust up out of the earth, the coffin showing at a slant, and the stone tablet before it leaned crooked, its inscription more than half eaten away by moss.
Qin Xuan narrowed his eyes and looked. The characters were truly blurred; beneath the moss ran deep grooves, as though raked by claws, impossible to make out.
"Family Head Geng, is this the patriarch?" Jinyanshu asked.
Geng Zhi frowned. "Brother Jin, wait until I have looked."
"Lights!"
Crackling broke out as three big men lit pine-tar torches, and the circles of firelight moved nearer. Geng Zhi looked over the inscription, and his face changed abruptly.
Seeing it, Qin Xuan thought with a start: Is it really the patriarch?
Then Geng Zhi shouted, "Quick—open the coffin!"
Zhu Ping and Zhu Gui, standing nearby, were struck dumb.
Liu Xi and Yu Han could not help looking up at the dim sky. Clouds lay piled in layers, and now and then a snake of lightning darted through. The yin energy was heavy at this hour; mountain spirits and specters might well be lurking. Would opening the coffin not offend them?
They looked to their senior brother for his opinion.
Qin Xuan shook his head slightly, signaling that they need not interfere.
The bladesman Old Huang reacted fastest. In one stride he stepped out from beside the monk Jinghui, flipped aside two large rocks, seized the coffin that jutted from the earth with both hands, and with brute strength hauled it out whole.
Without hesitation he opened the lid. With a puff, a jet of green smoke burst out, its stench almost enough to sting the eyes.
The three men holding torches gave a low shout and roused their palm force, driving that poisonous corpse-rot qi downwind.
Looking down into the coffin, they saw a skeleton. The skull was bare; the body wore a grey hemp robe with sleeves only half-length, and the withered bones below the forearms rested on the knees. It looked peaceful enough.
"Cover it."
Geng Zhi sighed. Seeing this, Qin Xuan knew it was not the Geng patriarch, and curiosity stirred. "Someone you knew, Brother Geng?"
"How did Young Master Qin tell?"
Qin Xuan looked at Old Huang. "He told me."
Old Huang said without expression, "I hear that people of the immortal sects can listen to all things. I did not speak, but I am still one of all things."
"Not so. A bladesman devoted to his blade is always different from ordinary men, and such a man seldom holds his feelings in check."
Hearing that, Old Huang knew his movements a moment ago had been too hurried.
Geng Zhi glanced at the coffin, now closed again.
"His name was Huo Yu, a brother very close to me. Twenty years ago, Brother Huo and I crossed the border east to Qingzhou Prefecture to trade, and on the road we met mountain bandits. Brother Huo held off the pursuers alone and told me to escort the carts across the river first... When I turned back to look for him, all that was left was a corpse whose face was unrecognizable and a broken sword. I buried him at the foot of Yunxiu Mountain, his homeland, thinking that if he had awareness beneath the Nine Springs, at least he had returned to his roots. Who would have thought that today—"
He sighed again, turned away, and bowed to the coffin together with Old Huang.
The others could not see their faces, but for a good brother's bones to lie uneasy after death and bring disaster in their wake—it must have been bitter for them.
Twenty years ago?
Qin Xuan watched the two men's backs and recalled what his juniors had told him about the Geng family.
This Family Head Geng had settled in Pingyuan Commandery only twenty years ago as well.
A short while later, Old Huang set his men to work; they set aside the three sacrificial offerings, wine, and fruit from the offerings and laid them out before Huo Yu's grave.
The dozen or so men of the jianghu who had come along—some with blades, some with staves, some bare-handed—were now directed by Geng Zhi to gather and form a half-circle before the grave.
Qin Xuan saw them take up the wine and thought they meant to make offerings together.
He had not expected...
Geng Zhi suddenly clapped his hands. "Dance!"
After drinking, the dozen men abruptly clapped and began to leap and bound around the grave mound, shouting hu-hu, ha-ha in rhythm, singing and dancing.
This...?
Clubbing on a grave mound?
Qin Xuan was not the only one struck silent; Monk Jinghui's and Jinyanshu's expressions froze as well.
Old Huang, a bladesman with a cold enough heart, could explain calmly even in such a sorrowful atmosphere:
"East in Qingzhou Prefecture, in the Qing River basin, lies the fief of the Great Yan vassal prince, the Prince of Tang. This is the palace Formation-Breaking Dance that spread from there. It was Brother Huo's favorite in life."
So that was it.
Qin Xuan saw Geng Zhi, his face a mask of grief, walk toward Monk Jinghui:
"Master, please trouble yourself to recite a rebirth mantra for Brother Huo."
Jinghui fingered the prayer beads on his wrist, gave him a long look, and said with a Buddhist salute, "Amitabha. Benefactor Geng values feeling and duty; this humble monk will of course oblige."
He took out a bronze qing bowl, struck it lightly, and began to chant: "Thus have I heard: the three realms are without peace, like a burning house..."
The monk chanted; the big men danced around him.
Brother Huo was merry and at peace.
Qin Xuan watched it all without changing expression. After the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, the rites stopped.
Wu Xuanshu, a Geng family retainer who understood the dragon-seeking and acupoint-locating art, came forward holding a compass. The bronze was mottled with rust; the face was densely engraved with the eight trigram directions, and a slender magnetic needle in the center trembled faintly.
"Family Head, where sand and water meet is where the dragon vein gathers. This place accords with the earth vein of Chongxi Valley. Judging by the mountain forms and water patterns, the patriarch's retreat is likely no more than twenty li from here."
Geng Zhi nodded with satisfaction.
"Then that must be it. Brother Huo's grave was never far from the patriarch's to begin with."
He was about to say more when he saw snakes of lightning race across the sky and heard a crash of thunder.
Lone clouds drifted and lingered in stillness; mountain rain came and went in haste.
Bean-sized raindrops followed at once, pelting down and drumming on Brother Huo's coffin.
The guides Zhu Ping and Zhu Gui conferred quickly, then suggested:
"Since we now have a lead on the patriarch, we can go at daybreak tomorrow and disturb nothing. The dark comes on in half a quarter-hour, and this rain will not stop soon; it looks set to become a real storm. Before long the torches will give no light, and these mountains are dangerous indeed."
"Better we head for the ruined temple first and take shelter."
Zhu Gui was sharp; having spoken, he first looked to Qin Xuan, waiting for him to decide.
Qin Xuan had no wish to take risks, so without consulting Geng Zhi he cut the discussion short. "Brother Zhu, lead the way."
The two Zhus had run these mountains for years and knew well what mattered. With Qin Xuan's word, they raised torches that trailed billows of white smoke and set off down a mountain path at a run.
In the distant woods a strange mist rose and spread outward; the birdsong in the mountains grew louder, the beasts' roars deeper.
The party quickened their steps along the shaded path, pushing through branches and leaves, following the two men who knew the way as they forced a narrow trail, trampling the mountain wind and piercing the rain and mist, until at last the ruined mountain temple came into view.
In the firelight, half the temple wall had collapsed, the tiles on the flying eaves were sparse and scattered, and the gate hung askew in its frame.
The party filed in, and the darkness swallowed the space behind them.
Broken as it was, the temple gave a feeling of reassurance.
Geng Zhi's men were used to the jianghu, each quick with his hands; they gathered dry grass and dead branches in the temple, built up a fire, and tore down a few scraps of tattered curtain to plug the cracks in the rain-leaking wall.
The firelight lit half the main hall, and shadows wavered across the mottled walls, lending a little warmth.
In the temple stood a clay image of some mountain god or other, its face blurred beyond recognition, its painted colors all but peeled away, leaving only a lump of yellow earth. Presumably it was a marshland deity whose spirit lifespan had run out.
Liu Xi and Yu Han were only seventeen or eighteen; staring at the image, they felt a chill of dread.
Nervous, the two of them edged closer to Qin Xuan.
Only then did they discover that on this pitch-black, rainy night when yin things walked abroad, their senior brother Qin Xuan—who had just dug up a grave and opened a coffin—was in the mood to read.
And moreover...
Peering over curiously, they saw that what he was reading was a volume of storyteller's tales.
"The elders in the temple often say that unless it is necessary, one should not enter the mountains at night. With bad luck you can easily run into yin ghosts and evil things, or even a procession of yin soldiers passing through. Senior Brother, aren't you afraid at all?"
Liu Xi asked in a low voice.
"Of course I'm afraid. But so long as you don't break any taboos, nothing usually happens."
"What taboos?"
Qin Xuan sat before the fire, turning the pages of Spring Letters, Autumn Post, a barely perceptible smile at the corner of his mouth. "A person has a lamp of yang fire on each shoulder. So long as that fire is not extinguished, yin ghosts and evil things will not come near."
There was such a saying?
Yu Han asked, "Senior Brother, can the fire go out?"
"It can. If you let your thoughts run wild, and then turn your head, the fire goes out."
Hearing this, the two immediately straightened their necks and sat bolt upright.
Qin Xuan went on: "You know Zhao Huaimin, don't you?"
Of course they had heard the name; it rang in their ears like thunder. Many said that Senior Brother Zhao was very likely the foremost core disciple of Yuansong Temple.
Senior Brother Zhao and Senior Brother Qin were the best of friends.
At Qin Xuan's mention of him, they pricked up their ears.
"That Senior Brother Zhao of yours once broke a taboo, and so a bride transformed from a willow tree seized him and pulled him into her sedan chair, and he spent a night in a yin dwelling."
"Ah?!"
The two were horrified; the night seemed more desolate than ever, as though something were about to happen. Then they turned and saw the laughter in Qin Xuan's eyes, and after a stunned moment realized that he had only been teasing them.
That turn dispelled most of the tension of spending their first night in the deep mountains.
Qin Xuan turned back, his smile gone.
"As the saying goes, when the demon rises a foot, the Dao rises a fathom. Our Dao Sect is one of the mightiest orthodox lineages in the Nine Provinces; even our Qi Refining Twelve-Storied Tower arts and the scriptures we inherit are beyond the reach of ordinary yin ghosts and evil spirits."
"When you fight such beings, you must guard against their methods, which seep in everywhere. So the calmer your heart, the greater your chance of victory."
Yu Han and Liu Xi looked at him differently now, gratitude in their eyes. "Senior Brother..."
Qin Xuan waved a hand lightly to cut them off, swept a glance over the rest of the people in the temple, and went back to his reading.
He had been a newcomer himself; for junior brothers and sisters he found agreeable, he was of course not stingy with a few words.
Just then, a strange noise came from outside the temple.
The big man on watch was instantly alert. "Careful—something's out there!" he said in a low voice.
In the ruined temple, everyone looked toward the doorway. Seven of the men drew their blades; Zhu Ping pulled a pair of axes from his waist.
Swish-swish-swish—!
They were a bold lot; in two steps they were over the wall a zhang high and charged out, torches in hand.
The others rose to their feet.
Footsteps sounded outside, and in the space of a dozen breaths the men came back through the rain, one of them holding a wild animal.
He laughed. "Damn it, I thought it was something big—turns out it's a badger!"
"Just the thing to kill and give us a treat."
The men who had returned were all relaxed.
But everyone inside the ruined temple had gone pale.
Eight had gone out.
Only seven had come back.
Zhu Gui, who was adding wood to the fire, flung down the half doorframe in his hand and roared in alarm: "Where's Brother Zhu Ping!"
……
Chapter 6