“Eldest shixiong.”
There was a flash of white light and the golden dragon transformed into a handsome youth in purple robes, who promptly toppled into Xue Cuo’s arms, flattening his already overburdened eldest shixiong into the dirt.
The gourds hanging from Xue Cuo’s body jingled and clattered, while the black wind bags trembled faintly, as if the ghost envoys had found their trail and were tracing them through spiritual force.
Xue Cuo tried to spring up like a carp, forgetting the mountain of weight on his back. His body rose a finger’s breadth before thudding down again. In a fury, he punched the ground, all scholarly dignity gone.
The little golden dragon rubbed his eyes, then suddenly threw his arms round one of the gourds and burst into sobs.
“Eldest shixiong! Shixiong! Wuwuwu!”
He stood up abruptly, tugging the tangle of gourd-vines with him, and Xue Cuo was jerked upright by force.
The youth the dragon had turned into was strikingly handsome, even wickedly so. Hugging the gourd belly, he blinked in confusion. “Eldest shixiong, how have you grown so fat?”
The great gourd stayed perfectly silent. The black-haired pink fox beside it, however, turned as dark as soot.
“What an utter fool!”
Xuan Zhao, watching the boy make a fool of himself, began to laugh deeply and delightedly. When he’d finally recovered, he said, still amused, [That little dragon’s been blinded by the miasma. He won’t come to his senses any time soon.]
Xue Cuo asked at once, “Master Xuan, you recognise this miasma?”
[Of course I do,] Xuan Zhao drawled lazily.
At that moment, the little golden dragon’s expression changed. He pressed the great gourd down in alarm. “Eldest shixiong, what’s wrong?”
“…?”
“Have you been bewitched by a demon?” The little dragon grew solemn. “Don’t be afraid, Eldest shixiong! I’ll get you out of here!”
Xue Cuo’s face darkened as the dragon dragged him stumbling forward.
“Ao Mu!”
It was the start of a nightmare for Xue Cuo. The little golden dragon clutched the gourd and bolted, the vines twisting about them both. The dragon flew in front, the human staggered behind, and together they raised a storm of dust across the streets.
Xuan Zhao: [Hahahaha]
He could barely speak for laughter. [The poison of a love-miasma can only be cured by pain,” he managed at last. “If you hurt him a little, he’ll hurt a lot, and that will wake him right up!]
Xue Cuo thought grimly, You were fated for this tribulation.
He lifted his hand, hesitated, dropped it again. His face turned dark. [Let come what may. If water comes, use earth to block it; if soldiers come, use the blade. To hell with gods and temples. Since the world’s in chaos, I may as well make it worse!]
A troop of ghost envoys were searching the city for the Black-Faced Impermanence. Their leader, fuming, stood on a rooftop. “Found him yet?”
“Not yet, but the bags must be close!”
“Good. Surround this area. Even if you meet a fox, don’t panic. Just do your job. If those stinking foxes dare provoke you, report straight to me! Your Black Wind Bags mustn’t be lost. Gather the men. By dawn, I want that wretch captured!”
“Yes! Catch the Black-Faced Ghost!”
“Catch the Black-Faced Ghost. Once we catch him, we’ll clean him, skin him, salt him, then eat him! To vent on behalf of Big Bro!”
“Salted ghost, that flavour, tsk tsk!”
A few ghosts began drooling at the thought, scouring the alleys with new vigour. If Big Bro was pleased, he might reward them with a bite or two. That would be such a bliss!
Suddenly one of them shouted, “Big bro! Look, what’s that?”
The leader turned and caught a flash of gold. It was so fast he couldn’t make it out. He rushed forward.
“Don’t block the way!”
His ghostly eyes bulged. Out of the swirling dust charged a face so black it might spit soot. The Black-Faced Ghost himself, the stolen Black Wind Bag hanging jauntily from his belt, clothed in fluttering pink gauze and laden with seven or eight massive gourds. His expression was pure murderous menace.
“It’s you!”
He never finished. The Black-Faced Ghost was already past him, the gourds on his back swinging like sledgehammers. One struck the leader squarely, spinning him like a top and flattening several walls.
The voice of the fleeing figure echoed back: “Quick get out of the way!”
“Big bro!”
“Ouch. Where’s his head. Quick, pick it up! Are you alright?”
They retrieved him piece by piece. Some collected his head, some his hands. The ghost leader jammed his head back on, shaking with rage until one soul flew heavenward and two slipped from his body.
“Damn foxes!” he roared, clutching his mourning staff. “They’ve seen our incense thrive and sent a spy to sabotage us!”
“Then we should report them to the Great God Shiliu! Charge them with blasphemy!”
“Fool!” the leader snapped. “This is the age of divine contention. What if this is the Great God Shiliu’s test for us? If he has to handle every little thing himself, what use are we?”
“What Big Bro speaks is correct!”
The ghost leader: “Those pink foxes have gone too far. Men, gather your forces! Catch the ghost first, ask questions later!”
With a shout, the ghost riders mounted their spectral steeds and thundered off after the fleeing dust.
Xue Cuo, naturally, saw them coming. He kicked the gourd in the little dragon’s arms to change their course and veered toward the fox den.
Inside, the foxes were half-dazed by smoke and perfume. A moment later, a golden flash split the air and a dozen Black Wind Bags dropped from the sky.
Their leader, a languid pink fox, blinked sleepily, then broke into a grin. “It’s the Black Wind Bags! So the boy did it? Great stuff, great stuff! Gather them up!”
Each fox grabbed two, and those left empty-pawed began scratching and grappling until it almost came to blows.
Just then, the ghost riding ghostly mounts arrived. Seeing the foxes divvying up their treasure, their faces twisted in outrage.
“It really is these foxes!”
“Big bro was right. These long-haired foxes are utterly shameless!”
The ghost officers began chanting, and the Black Wind Bags, as if grown legs, scurried back into their hands.
The fox leader’s fur puffed up. Though he had taken extra, he refused to be robbed.
“Chief, weren’t these bags traded fair and square by the black fox?”
“Trying to rob me, are you? Let me tell you… this Third Grandpa Fox fears nothing!”
His belly swelled and he howled a mighty wind that sent the ghost riders tumbling head over heels. When the gust died down, the ghosts looked about, unharmed. They were about to begin snickering. Then they realised the ancient locust tree nearby, and even their own leader with mismatched eyebrows, now looked strangely… alluring.
They tried to walk away. They couldn’t. They began posing and swaying like courtesans.
“How dare you mock my skill!” the leader shouted.
He whipped out a black flag. It was long, narrow, knotted with bulges. He shook it, and several foxes collapsed clutching their swelling bellies.
“Chief!”
The pink fox roared in fury. The ghost leader sneered, raising the flag higher. “Hand over the Black Wind Bags. If not, don’t blame me for being cruel.”
“As if I’d ever fear you!”
And thus, foxes and ghosts fell upon one another in glorious chaos. None noticed Xue Cuo hurtling past.
The little golden dragon flew straight into the pitch-dark night.
This part of Qianyun City had no lights, no people. Outside every house stood a tree, and in every tree, a nest of crows.
Each crow opened eerie green eyes as a streak of gold shot through the sky, dipped, and finally crashed to earth with a dull thud.
After a long while, someone rose from the ground.
Xue Cuo’s face was expressionless, his demeanour calm… but he was caked in dust, torn and dishevelled.
There were a dozen gourds dangling from his body. Behind him slunk a pitifully shrunken little golden dragon.
The fall had knocked him clean out of the miasma’s spell.
“Eldest shixiong.”
Before him stood a man, battered but still composed as moonlight on a still pond.
The dragon tried to burrow into Xue Cuo’s robes and was promptly lifted out by the tail. “My robes are torn,” Xue Cuo said flatly. “You won’t fit.”
The dragon’s wide eyes filled with heartbreak.
Ignoring him, Xue Cuo hefted his gourds and approached the temple ahead. Within sat a god in black robes, features veiled. Crows perched thick upon the eaves.
So this is Qianyun City’s death god? Xue Cuo thought. He opened a gourd. A swirl of pink vapour spread, perfuming the shrine; even the crows’ cries turned strangely tender.
He was just beginning to enjoy himself when something on the statue caught his eye. He stared a long while, then jammed the gourd stopper back in.
[Xue Cuo, you’ve been noticed.]
Xuan Zhao’s voice came, suddenly grave: [A deity stands not far behind you… He’s coming.]
[Xue Cuo, summon me. Speak my Daoist name.]
[The Profound Turtle of the Deep Spirit Marsh, Xuan Zhao.]
Xue Cuo’s fingers twitched. He stuffed the little golden dragon into his arms, tossed all the gourds to the floor, and stood still.
A faint clinking of rings and bangles drifted through the pink haze.
A woman’s soft laughter approached, light as mist… and then she was there. Xue Cuo kept his head bowed; he saw only a hem of snow-white silk.
She gave a small sigh, her voice whispering from the depths of his soul: “What is your name?”
His mind went blank. Pale-green spiritual light rippled outwards like water.
[Calm yourself,] Xuan Zhao warned. [She’s likely cultivated to become a True God level and won’t kill without cause. Don’t look up, don’t answer, don’t move.]
[She won’t strike first. But if you seek death yourself, that’s another matter.]
Xue Cuo stayed silent. The white hem drifted in a slow circle, fragrance curling into his nose.
But beneath the sweetness he caught another stench… thick, coppery, foul blood. Like standing before a reeking swamp. Instinctively, he stiffened.
“Do you wish to become an immortal?”
“Or do you regret what you left unfinished?”
“I am Chongming. We have no bond. Yet I hold the power of Rebirth. Trust me, join my way, and I can send you to be reborn and start over again.”
“What is your name?”
“Where is your home?”
“Have you any kin? Why… won’t you speak?”
Her breath brushed against Xue Cuo’s cheek. Then, at last, the youth lifted his head… to behold a worm’s mouth dripping yellow pus. The beautiful girl in white had a monstrous insect head writhing from her collar.
Xue Cuo’s voice turned to ice. His fingers flicked together. [Ignite.]
With a massive boom, all the gourds burst open. Pink miasma flooded the temple, dyeing the world rose.
Through the thick smoke, Xue Cuo could be seen running away for his life with an ancient tortoise shell blooming across his back. He never once looked behind him as he fled.
