The night was dark and wind-swept.
Qianyun City, lively and clamorous by day, by night became as silent as an abandoned ruin.
It was the city’s law: once darkness fell, no one might step beyond their doors; no lamp might be lit; no sound might disturb the stillness. Any stir in the night risked offending the gods and inviting misfortune upon the household.
Duoh—
All around lay a strange, smothered quiet, broken only by the slow, unhurried tapping of the night watchman’s bamboo clapper.
The moon hung vast and bright. Upon an upturned eave, a tall, slender figure seemed to waver in its glow. The watchman rubbed his eyes and the shadow was gone.
He was an old hand at such things. He neither pursued nor peered again, simply muttering and walking on as though he had seen nothing at all.
“Third watch,”
High in a tree, Xue Cuo stood poised upon a branch, a green talisman pinched between his fingers. The paper burned without a sound, dissolving into soft ash. His figure began to fade, his breath and warmth with it, until he seemed no more than a fragment of bark or a passing leaf.
[The talisman’s been altered nicely.]
[You’re too kind, Master Xuan.]
Xue Cuo had taken to calling Xuan Zhao “Master Xuan,” as the little golden dragon did, and the old spirit had not objected. Now he, the dragon and the turtle hid quietly among the branches, all snug in the fold of Xue Cuo’s robe. The little dragon poked his head out. [Eldest shixiong, quick look over there!]
Xue Cuo turned to look. He had never ventured out by night before; without a perfected concealment talisman, it had been too great a risk. Now he saw for the first time what Qianyun City became under moonlight.
His pupils tightened. The little dragon covered his mouth with his tail and shrank back into his sleeve, trembling.
The cold moonlight joined heaven and earth.
A pale blue mist drifted through the city… the solid breath of incense smoke itself.
From within that haze, a vast and twisted figure began to rise, a hundred feet tall, monstrous and divine.
[The Shiliu God.]
Its eyes were deep as wells, its mouth wide as a city gate. A fish’s head crowned a human body; six arms and four eyes gleamed faintly through the mist. Two hands cradled an incense burner; the rest gripped weapons of unknown make. The air reeked of incense, thick and choking. From the god’s hide crawled patterns that moved like living things, writhing to break free.
A cold wind whispered through the hollow streets. It passed through the god’s ribs and mouth, moaning like a voice from a tomb.
In its gaze, the houses of men were no more than pebbles.
It opened its vast mouth and drew in a single breath of incense. The air roared. Pale blue smoke poured into it in great rolling waves.
Gulp—
When it was sated, it sat cross-legged upon the ground.
Even from afar, Xue Cuo could feel that terrible, nameless pressure. A suffocating dread that raised the hairs on his neck.
The god stooped, peering into the homes where incense burned thickest. With a flick of its finger, it lifted doors from their hinges, plucked two or three small children from cowsheds and stables, and tossed them into its mouth, crunching as though on snacks.
Its expression was one of pleasure. Humming faintly, it rummaged from door to door, sometimes pausing to inhale another stream of incense.
The drifting smoke left behind resembled the ashes of paper offerings scattered after a funeral.
The little golden dragon’s eyes darkened. Images rose before him: the faces of crying children, the red shine of blood, the memory of flesh.
[Xiao Mu.]
[Shixiong…]
Eldest shixiong.
Tears brimmed suddenly in the little golden dragon’s eyes. His claws clung tight to his eldest shixiong’s robe.
Duoh—
The bamboo clapper’s sound floated faintly again.
The ground gave a small tremor. Another Xianghuo god has awoken.
It stretched lazily, a smoking pipe between its teeth. A huge red cloth veiled its face, beneath which glimmered a hint of fangs and an empty black maw. From its back sprouted countless hands. There were men’s and women’s, old and young… all tangled together by threads of red silk.
The Red Cloth God exhaled a long puff of smoke, and the city’s incense haze turned a lurid, dazzling crimson.
Then the people stirred. Eyes closed, they rose from their beds, stripped bare, and wandered into the streets. They clutched whatever bodies they found, coupling mindlessly in every doorway and alley.
The rose-coloured mist thickened.
The Red Cloth God drew upon his pipe again, satisfaction curling his lips. He looked down at the young dancers draped only in a single red veil, singing and swaying for his pleasure.
Moments later, his body twisted and split. It changed into a host of beasts that fell upon the dancers with frenzied delight.
Caw!
A single crow cried out.
Suddenly, black wings flooded the sky. Thousands of ravens poured from every corner of Qianyun City, blotting out the moon. They darted into houses, then burst forth again, clutching tiny things in their beaks.
A vast god loomed above, his body lost in a black mantle, his height spanning heaven and earth, still as a mountain.
At a sweep of his sleeve, the ravens returned, vomiting forth countless golden beads that streamed towards him in a glittering river.
Those motes pulsed with sound… babbling voices, young and old, alive and unknowing… the lifespans of all living beings.
As he swallowed them, the glow faded. Ash drifted down, grey and weightless, falling like black snow upon the silent city.
Through that snow came another figure… graceful, swaying.
She walked with a white parasol, her hair a waterfall of ink, her robes pure as new frost. In one hand she carried a yellow paper lantern whose glow seemed warm and merciful.
As she passed, doors opened of their own accord. She peered through windows at sleeping infants and smiled with gentle compassion like a saint from a painted shrine.
Only at times, beneath her hem, something glimmered… a slender claw, an eel-like foot… and the sweetness of her smile curdled into a hungry curve, like the mouth of a cave that devoured souls.
Four Xianghuo gods, feasting beneath the shroud of night.
The city was their banquet, the world their pasture, and mankind their docile herd.
Shadows rippled through the dark; faint cries, half human and half ghostly, echoed down the empty streets. The mortal world had reached its blackest hour.
And amid it all, Xue Cuo’s figure was so very small.
Between gods and men yawned an unbridgeable gulf. He bore the lineage of the Dao, yet what could that matter against such overwhelming power?
The Shiliu God tossed four or five children into the air, juggling them like toys. One slipped and struck the ground… a wet crack, red and white gleaming on the stones.
The little dragon sobbed: [Eldest shixiong]
Xue Cuo said nothing. The trees cast dappled shadows across his face; in the moonlight, he looked like a painting… serene, composed, almost beautiful.
The wind lifted his dark hair. After a long silence, he murmured, [Go back.]
The dragon’s eyes glowed red with anger. [But, Eldest shixiong]
[Go back!] Xue Cuo’s voice was cold.
His sleeve vanished into the shadows. A heartbeat later, the great trunk of the tree split with a sharp crack. A deep fingerprint scorched into the wood.
[You won’t go back? One of those things could crush you with a finger.]
Xue Cuo walked boldly down the empty street, talismans swirling like living dragons between his fingertips. “Subduing demons and evil spirits,” he said quietly, “is my duty.”
[Hmph.] Xuan Zhao’s tone was unreadable. It was neither anger nor approval. [Something approaches.]
Xue Cuo slipped into a narrow alley and listened. All he could hear was the hollow tapping of the night watchman’s bamboo clapper and the faint scrape of weapons being drawn.
“These makeshift actors… have they even hired ghost constables now?”
He almost laughed aloud. Taking out a shadow talisman, he imprinted the scene for evidence intending to burn it later as an offering to Her Ladyship and lodge a proper complaint.
Through the drifting smoke came a grim, ghostly aura. The spirit patrols moved in rows of ten, each ghost clad in a blue headscarf, carrying a mourning staff, their skin the pale grey of corpses. They stalked the streets with frozen eyes, sweeping through the alleys like a tide of silence.
Suddenly, the rearmost ghost was seized. A muffled gasp, a drag into darkness. A moment later, another ghost fell back into line, his face now entirely black.
Xuan Zhao gave a soft, incredulous laugh. [You smeared soot on your face?]
Xue Cuo, busy testing the fit of his disguise and patching flaws in his talisman, murmured, [A lofty being such as yourself, Master Xuan, has surely never heard of such mortal tricks.]
Xuan Zhao: [Undignified.]
Xue Cuo took exception: [Talismans always have flaws. Without spiritual power, crude means are best.]
He then pulled out a small arsenal of mortal charms: black dog’s blood, peachwood nails, clay pellets. This left even the ancient cultivator famed for “moving mountains and filling seas” momentarily speechless.
This lad has gone thoroughly astray!
That’s right!
The ghost constables rumbled among themselves, guttural and half-unintelligible. Two by two, they split off into hunting parties out to seize children from the homes of men.
At the rear, the head constable hissed. The ghost beside him turned instinctively… and froze.
The ghostly giants stood three metres tall, hulking and pallid. Among them now walked a tiny, wiry creature, black as soot and shining faintly in the moonlight. His round eyes gleamed white against the darkness, full of “hungry longing,” as he gazed up at the constable.
“Ayi huluqi, wan zouba,” the head ghost growled.
Xue Cuo shoved a mud pellet into his mouth, gestured along his thigh, and gave a thumbs-up. [Huluyi, keba atuwu.]
The troop burst into coarse laughter, slapping their thighs, and accepted him as one of their own. Soon he was trudging behind the head constable as the ghosts dispersed, each heading for a different home.
The constable leaned into a cowshed and peered inside. Four or five children lay asleep on the straw. The oldest was no more than eight, the youngest barely two, thin as sticks. He jerked his chin at Xue Cuo and tossed him a black wind-sack.
The sack pulsed faintly with ghostly chill. Xue Cuo took it, pretending to weigh and count the children as though they were turnips. The constable cuffed him on the head, chose the eldest child, knocked him senseless, and dumped him into the bag.
Xue Cuo bowed meekly and followed along, the heavy black sack slung over his shoulder.
In his arms, the little golden dragon wept silently. Then thud. A small body fell from above and struck him on the head. He blinked, bewildered. Another fell. Then another.
One. Two. Three. Four.
The fallen children woke in fright, wailing aloud.
Outside, the “black-faced ghost” ever so diligently went about collecting the other ghosts’ sacks, taking them all onto his own shoulders. So obliging was he that the others praised him without reserve.
When the patrol regrouped, they were ready to present their offerings of boys and girls bundled neatly in black wind-sacks to their awaiting deity.
Only… something felt off.
The head constable frowned. Too light. He ordered the ghosts to open the sacks.
The ghosts obeyed. At once the constable’s face twisted in fury. He seized one of the ghost messengers, roared abuse, and demanded, “Where’s that black-faced fool?”
The trembling ghost had no time to answer. The constable bit off his head in one snap. The next ghost, terrified out of his wits, lost his trousers and began pointing wildly to the side.
All turned as one.
At the mouth of the alley stood a scrawny black ghost, a black wind-sack over one shoulder, one foot already on the wall.
“You found me?”
He grinned, showing two neat rows of white teeth.
“Ha-ga!”
With a spring, the black-faced ghost vaulted the wall and vanished into the night. The constable spat out the half-chewed head and bellowed in rage.
[They’re coming for you now.]
“Master Xuan,” said Xue Cuo, “find me a way out. Somewhere without ghosts.”
[Nowhere. The fools have turned the whole place into a net of yin energy. Hmph. Southeast. Through that narrow lane.]
“Alright.”
To the southeast drifted a pink mist, cloying and perfumed. Within it, graceful men and women swayed, each carrying a great gourd upon their back, inhaling and exhaling clouds of incense.
A fox spirit, rosy and languid, had just exhaled a stream of smoke when she turned… and froze. Beneath the tree stood a tall, elegant man dressed in violet robes, handsome to the point of danger, a small horn rising from his brow.
He smiled at her.
The fox, a vessel for her master’s hunger, was helpless before such allure. She drifted towards him, dazed by desire.
“Lift your head.”
The man’s voice was clear, soft, entrancing.
She obeyed… and saw, not beauty, but a blackened, lifeless face.
Before she could cry out, a heavy black sack fell over her head. Darkness. Silence.
The man in violet shimmered, dissolving into a tiny golden dragon who darted out with a flick of his tail. “Eldest shixiong! Let me help!”
Expressionless, Xue Cuo caught him mid-air and stuffed him back into his sleeve. “You’ll only give us away. If I weren’t dyed pitch-black already, I’d have done this cleanly.”
The little dragon whimpered.
Xue Cuo donned the fox’s gauzy pink garments, hefted her gourd, and swaggered straight into the rose-coloured haze.
Within the mist lay an obscene paradise… a blur of writhing human bodies. Some mortals, drained beyond endurance, died in their sleep, their souls floating up like smoke… only to be snatched mid-air by black crows.
Xue Cuo strode through, the gourd bumping lightly against his shoulder. Before long, he encountered a band of fox spirits, each carrying a gourd, each reeking of blood and desire.
Their leader, mid-count, caught sight of him, froze, and wrinkled his nose. “Why are you so dark?”
“I’m a black fox,” said Xue Cuo solemnly.
The lead fox, his wits dulled by long indulgence, blinked and frowned. “A black fox. Wearing pink?”
Xue Cuo’s face twitched. Gritting his teeth, he said, “Pink is delicate. And I, at present, am in full bloom.”
