Xue Cuo stroked his chin. “All right, I can fry, boil, stew or roast. How would you like to pick?”
The little ghost’s eyes bulged. He staggered back. “You still want to eat me?”
Xue Cuo replied, “You’re so skinny, you’d make a fine soup.”
The little ghost wailed aloud, screwed his eyes shut, and with a look of grim resolve snatched up a piece of straw as if to stab himself. “I would rather die than be humiliated! You, you mustn’t force me!”
For a long while nothing happened. The ghost cracked open an eye. The man in the bamboo hat had a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. As soon as the ghost looked up, a fingertip touched his brow.
Lotus petals drifted down.
The little ghost’s body slowly shifted, reshaping into what he had been in life. He stared in astonishment at his own arms, lifted his clothes to peer at his belly, and burst into tears. “I’m back again!”
Xue Cuo brushed his forehead lightly and pointed at the moon on the horizon. “You’ll stand guard here. When the moon in the heavens is veiled by stars, burn a stick of incense and recite a Daoist title.”
The ghost was baffled. “A Daoist title?”
Xue Cuo said, “Commit it to memory. Don’t forget.”
The ghost faltered. “But for wandering lonely souls like us… will anyone truly care? I have been dead so long, and I cannot scrape together a single offering.”
Xue Cuo answered, “No offerings, no rites needed…… only a quiet stream. Trust me, eh?”
The ghost gave a hesitant nod.
Xue Cuo smiled faintly, tilted his bamboo hat into place, and tapped his white boots against the ground. With borrowed force he sprang up onto the treetops.
In the darkness, his blue robe billowed like drifting cloud, his black hair gleamed like tempered steel—and in moments he was gone.
Xue Cuo had destroyed the temple deity; to forestall interference, he summoned down the power of the Divine Lord of Civil and Martial Affairs Temple.
Though the Divine Lord had dwelt in the mortal world for years, at least he bore Heaven’s seal. If he were to fight with all his might…
Xue Cuo could only say he was able to flee most gracefully. Anything further, he would not press.
Of course, if the Divine Lord were to make some grand self-sacrifice… build a boat, seek out a lake, and fight him there…
Xue Cuo would gladly craft an incense burner the size of a calf, carve a spirit tablet with his own hands, and light enough incense to smoke him to death.
Naturally, such notions were only idle fancy.
Divine Lord of Civil and Martial Affairs was no fool.
Xue Cuo sighed to himself. It was not that he begrudged a fight, but that his own goddess still lay broken in the depths of the great loch, her divine body shattered, her strength curtailed. And his path was that of the Xianghuo Divine Dao.
To make his goddess battle-worthy, he must restore her incense power in the mortal world. That was no simple matter.
Caution, more caution still.
Xue Cuo flew over Yinliu Village, about to break the array and cleanse the Carrion Pool, when he suddenly hissed.
The Carrion Pool, once seething with resentment, now bubbled like a boiling mud pit, bursting apart in all directions.
At the bottom lay five black coffins, clearly the array’s cores. Mortal-world qi was too thin; to gather it required unusual fuel. For an array this vile, its cores could only be corpses of rare wickedness.
Those bodies, steeped in sinister yin for so long, had grown formidable. Yet now every coffin gaped open, its corpse tossed aside, battered and beaten, their foul aura wholly dispersed.
These claw marks, these sword slashes.
Could it be that great white-furred tiger?
Xue Cuo folded his arms and alighted on a nearby eaves.
Among the evil corpses, one alone had grown into a menace. Its whole body gleamed crimson; its knuckles were long and graceful, its long black hair hid its sex. Trembling, it cast a yearning, sorrowful glance at Xue Cuo.
If that young Daoist dared approach one step closer, it could pounce and devour him, replenishing itself.
Xue Cuo rubbed his sleeves together, producing a talisman for summoning a god. In his palm blossomed a lotus of Dao-rhyme, his hat brim lowering.
“By decree.”
Suddenly, the sound of rushing water filled his ears. The lotus in his hand drifted towards the village, scattering into countless blooms.
The scattered fragments of true spirit gathered into tiny golden figures, three or two to a flower, until they all floated back into his palm.
The evil corpse grew feverish. Dead so long, it had nearly forgotten the sensation of heat. Through its curtain of black hair, it saw a blazing red sun.
The solar disc whirled in song, transfigured into a three-legged crow. It stooped in a dive, and all remnant flesh burned away to ash.
So swift, so merciless, that even the evil corpse’s face showed shock.
When all was consumed, Xue Cuo declared in satisfaction, “In the end, the Great Golden Crow truly is mighty!”
No sooner had he spoken than, stepping off with his left foot first, he tripped over himself and fell from the tree.
His Supreme Freedom technique suddenly failed him.
Xue Cuo tumbled to the ground, rolled, and with a pained “aiyo!” sprawled out four-limbed. Dazed, he gazed skywards. After a while, he came back to himself, plucked straw from his hair, and proclaimed with lofty righteousness: “But still, Her Ladyship is the best!”
He replaced his hat, patted down his robes, and glanced around as though nothing had happened.
No one had seen.
He let out a breath of relief, then went to the evil corpses, sweeping a layer of soil over them with one wave of his hand to cover them.
Xue Cuo entered the village. All about the houses and fields of Yinliu lay the marks of struggle and dragging; bloody handprints stained the walls and doors.
A mere glance was enough to grasp the horror of what had taken place.
The whole village, old and young alike, had been massacred for the carrion pool. The Daoist who had done this drove the child-ghosts to capture travellers, feeding the fiendish array. A cruelty beyond measure.
The longer Xue Cuo looked, the angrier he became, his steps growing faster.
Following the trace of the formation, he pursued it to a solitary mountain. Its shape was strange: a crouching tiger, but its head shorn off becoming a headless beast.
The mountain lay shrouded in snow, exhaling a baleful air.
At its foot stretched a narrow plank bridge, the sole path inward.
On the bridge lingered a line of footprints, nearly buried by the drifting snow.
So, that great white tiger had come as well?
Xue Cuo arched his brow, pinned a safety talisman to his breast, and cautiously took to the treetops, flying into the mountain.
The snow fell heavier. Within the deep woods, black mist coiled faintly. A sudden squall swept by, and the plank bridge behind vanished.
In the forest, he felt the strangeness immediately. It was an unnatural silence. Not a single sound.
Not even the whisper of wind.
Creak—
He stepped onto a treetop. It shook violently beneath him, as if buckling under his weight.
On any other day, he might have believed it. But he had driven the Supreme Freedom technique to its limit—light as down, lighter than a feather. How could it possibly make a sound?
Unless the very Dao here had shifted.
Xue Cuo raised his eyes. The sky above was black as ink. No bright lonely moon, not even a glimmer remained.
His thoughts stirred. He descended from the branches and trudged forward through the snow.
He had no idea how long he’d been walking when Xue Cuo spotted a glimmer of light not far ahead, sharp against the pitch-black forest.
He followed it on, until he saw clearly. It was a house.
A snowbound night, deep in the mountains.
A small hut. If the thing inside turned out to be human, Xue Cuo would have swallowed the Divine Lord of Civil and Martial Affair’s statue on the spot. Without a second thought, he stirred up the Supreme Freedom Technique, turned on his heel, and was already leaving when the hut’s wooden door swung open: “Young Master, stay a while.”
Xue Cuo only ran faster.
The thing in the hut darkened in face, snatched the hatchet hanging on the door, and set off after him.
The voice, now near, now far, rang with uncanny cadence: “Young Master, do not fear. I am a good man. I have something to ask of you.”
Expressionless, Xue Cuo crouched behind a tree. Before him stood a small incense burner. The fire talisman refused to glow; no matter how he tried, the incense would not catch.
If incense will not burn, then the Dao of this place is void.
That was a grave matter.
He packed away the burner, lifted his gaze skyward, and began to count his steps: “Sixty-three paces back to the left, seventy-two forward to the right, and I’ll be where I first began.”
Calmly he counted his steps, circled wide of the thing, and ran back the way he had come.
Failing to find him, the thing had a sudden inspiration, squatted by the return path, and called out earnestly: “Young Master, I can see you. You’re here, aren’t you? I’m coming closer. Don’t be afraid.”
Xue Cuo hissed through his teeth, thought better of it, and bolted in another direction.
Thin snow crunched faintly.
The thing heard.
Xue Cuo sprinted. Ahead came the gurgle of water; faintly, he made out a bridge. On it sat a squat little Daoist, watching a fire. Before him, something bubbled in a large cauldron.
Xue Cuo’s eyes brightened. There was fire.
The incense burner in his hand quivered, eager. Yet in a forest so heavy with Yin, that Daoist was eight or nine chances in ten not a man.
Behind him, the thing glared and pressed close, emboldened by the failure of incense Dao.
Xue Cuo thought, enough. He’d see it through. Could there truly be nothing wholesome left in this forest?
The cooking Daoist spied him, waved cheerily, and invited him over for a cup of sweet dessert soup to warm himself.
Xue Cuo, decisive, flared the Supreme Freedom Technique again and tore off in a fresh direction. The Daoist blinked, then gathered up the scalding cauldron, pelted after him, and tittered: “The weather is so cold! Young Master, come drink!”
Night pressed deep.
A streak of blue darted through the woods, still fleeing at full tilt.
Then Xue Cuo caught faint strains of music ahead. He gave a low “hm,” adjusted his bamboo hat, and charged towards the sound while dragging two pursuers in his wake.
As he drew near, his face changed. It wasn’t one, it was an entire crowd!
He spun at once to flee, yet the gurgle of boiling broth and the ring of blades behind told him the two were closing fast, though for some reason they hesitated, circling, unwilling to pounce.
Xue Cuo thought quickly. Still running, he rifled through his storage ring, pulled out garments, and made straight for the throng.
Amid falling snow, there suddenly paraded a wedding procession: men bearing a bridal sedan, suona horns blaring, red blossoms strewn across the ground.
Their faces were formless, yet mirth seemed to ripple from them. Singing and dancing, they tramped along the mountain path.
Suddenly the troupe halted. The drum-beater rasped darkly: “Something’s amiss. There’s one too many here.”
The faceless ones turned towards each other, unreadable, muttering: “You’re extra. No, you’re extra.”
The drummer snapped: “Stop! I’ve a way to find him out.”
One ghost said: “Look at those beside you. Who has a face?”
“Yes, yes!”
“Quick, find them!”
The faceless mob pawed at each other. One glanced about and shrilled, “Why cover your face? Have you grown one?”
At once, all the others swung towards him.
The air froze.
The drummer, grim, stalked over and jabbed a finger: “Unwrap that cloth from your face.”
The man replied, “I am newly dead. I feared I might frighten the rest.”
The faceless traded glances, then cackled: “Afraid? We’ll carve it off for you.”
“Take it down!”
The man dodged. The drummer bellowed: “Grab hold of him!”
They surged together, pinning his arms. The drummer, wrathful, tore the cloth away.
Silence fell.
A ghost at the side goggled: “Another layer!”
The drummer tore again. Another, and another. His rage mounted, ripping and ripping, yet the cloth seemed grown into the ghost’s very face.
At last he roared: “Shove him in the bridal chair!”
The man faltered, sleeve hiding his face: “Actually… I’ve two kinfolk in the woods yet, from my mother’s side.”
Kinfolk, was it now?
The drummer gaped, then snapped impatiently: “Enough babbling. In with you. Miss the hour and it’ll be too late.”
Xue Cuo thought, those two had chased him half the night. Manners demanded return courtesy. Why not put them all together and see who proved the stronger? He held his ground: “But isn’t there to be a feast at the wedding? One is skilled in soup, the other in knife-play. Quite formidable.”
The drummer brightened: “Oh? Then point the way, and I’ll gladly fetch them too.”
