Chapter Sixty-Three: Pursuit (2)

Cannon fodder? That’s right, Lord Qian certainly played the role of cannon fodder this time. He had just stepped on a landmine, yet the mine didn’t explode.

“There’s corpse energy, blood mixed with sand—this is deadly!” Lord Qian was an expert; he immediately saw there was trouble here.

Chen Wenbin turned, circled the grove, and pointed as he said, “This is a place for raising corpses. I don’t know why you’ve come here with such fanfare, but if the ground below is broken, I guarantee none of you will leave alive.”

“You know your stuff, huh?” Lord Qian couldn’t help but cast Chen Wenbin another look.

Chen Wenbin didn’t respond directly. He simply said, “I just want my people.”

“They’re not with me. According to the notes, it should be the boss. I’m just working for him.” Lord Qian gestured to the men beside him, armed and ready, and said to Chen Wenbin, “You’re young, but you’ve got some skill. You’re promising—don’t do anything foolish. Imagine what my boss is like. I value talent; if you work with me, I’ll treat you as family. As for your people, I can’t help you.”

“I don’t need you to tell me whether you can help. Just tell me where they are.”

Lord Qian raised his brow. “Why should I?”

Chen Wenbin replied immediately, “Because of the batch of gold your ancestors failed to take away back then!”

Lord Qian was shocked. “You know?”

“At least I can tell you where it is.” Chen Wenbin held out his hand. “Let me find my people first, then I’ll tell you.”

“Fine!” Lord Qian signaled Chen Wenbin to follow him aside, whispered a few words, then patted him on the shoulder and said, loud enough for all to hear, “From now on, use my name in the underworld—people will show you respect.” He waved at his men, “Let’s go, we’re done for today!”

On the rear slope of Wildman Village stood two abandoned huts. These huts, built for forest guards, had been deserted for years.

Twenty years ago, the owners were a married couple, childless after fifteen years of marriage, typical lower-middle peasants. The village had arranged for them to guard the forest, which at least earned them some food and work credits.

For reasons unknown, the couple hanged themselves together from the beams in the huts. When found, their meal was only half-eaten; there had been no sign of trouble.

When the bodies were prepared for burial, the woman’s body was washed by the village’s midwife, who said the woman was four months pregnant. If she was expecting a child, that was the greatest blessing for them—so why would they commit suicide? In those days, no one investigated further. The only clue left was that three sets of bowls and chopsticks sat on the table—meaning a third person had dined with them. Who that was remains a mystery.

Why mention these huts? Because Lord Qian told Chen Wenbin that’s where his people were.

Perhaps others didn’t know, but we did: this was a forbidden place in Wildman Village, albeit unofficial.

Where people had died, especially by unnatural means, trouble always followed—what people commonly called “evil encounters.”

In 1963, some village children went up the mountain to gather wild chestnuts. They claimed to see the couple inside the huts, who invited them to share meat soup. The children reported this to the adults, but when villagers went to investigate, there was no couple—only a pot of rotten, stewing rats in the hearth. Later, those children caught dysentery, vomiting and suffering until one of them died within days. People said the couple’s spirits were haunting them, prompting bereaved parents to try to burn the huts.

It was strange indeed: as soon as the fire was lit, rain began to pour, lasting for over half a month. Some said the spirits wouldn’t let their home be destroyed. Others claimed to have seen the couple sitting at the village gate, crying, pleading with villagers not to burn their house. Stories circulated as if they were legend. In those years, the “power of ghosts” was enough to subdue a group of peasants who had never left the mountains, so the huts remained.

We never went near that place; nobody wanted trouble. We only knew its approximate location. After Lord Qian’s directions, if we wanted to find Yuan Xiaobai, forbidden or not, we had to go.

The huts were easy enough to find—two hours’ walk up the mountain. Weeds covered the crumbling walls, half the gate remained, and a patch of charred black showed the mark of the old fire. I called out for Yuan Xiaobai at the door—no reply. We braced ourselves and went inside.

Unexpectedly, there was someone in the yard—a woman!

She sat in a battered armchair, her hair silver, wrinkles unable to hide her youthful beauty, eyes bright and clear. The old woman was clad in white, holding a small green snake in her lap, its eyes red as it coiled around her arm.

It was obvious she was no ordinary person; her presence was formidable. This old woman was no benign soul—could she be the legendary boss?

Before I could finish wondering, someone else couldn’t resist—the fat man spoke first: “Old lady, instead of enjoying life at home, you’re here causing trouble. If you weren’t elderly and a woman, I’d…”

The old woman, who had been reclining with closed eyes, laughed. “Oh? And what would you do? Are you thinking of bullying a poor old widow like me?”

I admit, her smile was as warm as my childhood neighbor’s grandmother, perhaps even more so. Her gentle manner lowered our guard; most would believe she was a kindly old woman.

That’s how I felt, but Chen Wenbin saw otherwise. His thinking was different—he spoke, awakening us: “Madam, climbing this lonely mountain must be tough on your health, I suppose?”

The old woman burst out laughing again: “I’m very well—very well indeed!”

Chen Wenbin stepped forward, saluted with cupped hands, and said, “I mean, why would you climb from underground to aboveground? If you’re lacking anything, let us younger folks know—we’ll bring it to you. I’m here to find someone, not disturb your rest. If there’s nothing further, please return.”

At once, the old woman’s face changed—her kindly expression vanished. Chen Wenbin moved to shield me and the fat man behind him. With a sharp “zing,” he drew his Seven-Star Sword, and with his right hand, snatched up a yellow talisman. Before I could see clearly, the talisman was aflame, and he charged at the old woman.

Before he reached her, the chair was empty; only the old armchair rocked with a creak under our gaze—the person had vanished into thin air. At that moment, I realized an old saying was true: we’d seen a ghost in broad daylight!

The fat man stared, dumbfounded. “A ghost?”

Chen Wenbin, his back to us, didn’t answer. He scanned the ground, the burning talisman nearly singeing his fingers, then pressed it onto the chair. He pulled a handful of yellow soybeans from his pocket and scattered them onto the chair—crackling sounds followed. Using his left foot as a pivot, he swiftly traced a circle with his right foot.

Then came a second talisman, different in color—green paper, black script. He flung it to the ground, and before it landed, his Seven-Star Sword stabbed down. The blade pierced the talisman as it touched the earth, striking the very center of the circle he’d drawn.

The soil here was yellow, with few rocks, yet this barely twenty-year-old, wielding a seemingly ordinary iron sword, drove it silently into the ground. In a blink, only the hilt remained, and the traditional talisman lay quietly beside it.

All of this happened in a flash. Immediately, another astonishing event occurred—the green paper grew damp, turning brown, and a faint, fishy odor drifted in the air, strong enough for me to smell.

“A harmful thing, but it’s no trouble to banish it!” Chen Wenbin said. He gently drew out the sword, and a stream of red-black liquid oozed along the blade, eventually spurting out, yet not a drop stained his sword. In the sunlight, it looked as ordinary as ever—plain, unobtrusive, its dull surface exuding a somber desolation.

And with that—

Good night.