The room was dim, the drumbeats urgent.
Candles flanking the incense burner flickered as if alive, dancing to the rhythm.
Widow Wang's eyes narrowed, her head swaying, her demeanor shifting. Solemn at first, then frenzied, sweat beading on her forehead.
Her head shook ceaselessly, her chanted incantations speeding up.
"Immortal chains, binding ropes, soul-capturing flask slung behind. Three treasures flung upon your disciple's frame—tie loose, kick tight; bind weak, stomp firm. Heart clear, eyes bright, a single guiding lamp…"
The girl on the floor trembled harder, limbs quaking.
With the drum's cadence, her body arched, yawning, stretching unnaturally, then rose stiffly, upright in a way no child should.
Standing, her eyes stayed shut, her head jerking rhythmically.
Li Yan's pupils tightened, his hand instinctively gripping his knife handle.
In the past, he'd have dismissed this as mother-and-daughter trickery.
But times had changed.
His nose caught it clearly now—that incense-tinged, rank stench shrinking from all corners, pooling into the girl's body.
The fusion changed her aura.
*Thump.*
The drum fell silent.
The girl's eyes snapped open.
She shook her head, grabbed a nearby horsetail whisk, and flicked it left and right, as if shooing something away.
Then, crossing her right leg over her left, she balanced on her toes, leaning back as if lounging in an invisible chair.
Li Yan's face stayed calm, but inside, he marveled.
He'd trained in martial arts since childhood, honed his body's control with the stand-in idol. He could mimic those moves.
But a four-year-old girl? Impossible.
Her expression—eyes half-closed, a smirk that wasn't quite a smile—was lazy yet cold, devoid of childish innocence.
She felt… foxlike.
Unfazed by Li Yan's wariness, the girl flicked her whisk.
*Swish.*
A wine jug from the altar flew into her hand, wrapped by the whisk's tail.
Li Yan's eyelids twitched.
A whisk wasn't an uncommon weapon. Its handle doubled as a short staff or dagger—thrusting, blocking, striking. The horsetail could act as a soft whip—entangling, sweeping, binding. Hard and soft, yin and yang in harmony.
Only a master could wield it.
The jug, unsealed, weighed at least five catties. To lift it with the whisk's tail, not spilling a drop, required perfect control.
For a moment, Li Yan was at a loss.
If a four-year-old, possessed by an immortal, could do this, what was the point of all his grueling martial training?
Oblivious to his thoughts, the girl wrapped the jug with her whisk, propped it with her left elbow, tilted her head, and guzzled it down.
*Burp.*
Draining the jug, she let out a loud belch, tossed it aside, wiped her mouth, and squinted at Li Yan.
Her eyes glinted, sizing him up.
Then she spoke, a rapid string of gibberish—shrill, laced with an aged rasp.
It was unintelligible, like a beast's growl or frantic muttering.
Hearing it, Li Yan relaxed slightly.
He'd heard of this: *shangfang speech*, the tongue spirits used among themselves, like a native language.
If she'd spoken human words, it'd mean something far worse—a higher level of power.
Widow Wang, in a trance-like state, listened intently, then turned to Li Yan. "The immortal says you're in deep trouble. A *cold altar mad soldier* has marked you. Last night was just a test. Once your house's ward breaks, disaster strikes."
They knew more than he'd thought.
Li Yan's eyes narrowed. "What's a *cold altar mad soldier*?"
The girl snickered, jabbering again.
Widow Wang translated, "You're not of the mystic path yet. Explaining's pointless—you'll understand when the time comes. The immortal asks, which root have you awakened?"
Which root?
Li Yan was baffled.
Seeing his confusion, Widow Wang explained, "Humans have six roots: eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, mind. They match the six senses: sight, hearing, smell, taste, touch, thought.
"Each root splits into yin and yang. Most have yin roots, but some awaken yang roots, sensing the spirit realm. That's the key to entering the mystic path."
Li Yan leaned in. "Like yin-yang eyes?"
Widow Wang nodded. "Exactly. Ordinary folks only glimpse spirits when near death, clashing with evil, or drowned in bad luck. Yang roots let you sense them directly—some call it a *supernatural gift*.
"But gifts are a double-edged sword.
"Some kids with yin-yang eyes get scared soulless. Others with spirit-hearing go mad from ghostly whispers.
"Worse, those with yang roots draw the gaze of malevolent things. Without guidance or protection, peace is rare."
It clicked.
His strange sense of smell wasn't from the idol—it was his own.
Li Yan didn't hide it. "I can smell unusual scents."
Widow Wang's face twisted bitterly, glancing at her daughter with tender pity. "No need to guard against us. We mean no harm. There's a reason we're telling you this."
"My family ran a spirit hall generations back, but my fate's thin. I awakened a spirit root but couldn't cross the threshold. My mother sealed it, so I'd live a normal life.
"Then enemies came. I alone escaped, only to be trafficked to Guanzhong. Married a bad man, lived like less than human.
"My poor girl suffered with me. When her father died, the shock awakened her mind-root. Wild spirits from the hills latched onto her.
"To save her, I took up the old ways. Thankfully, Third Aunt's spirit stayed with us, protecting her. But she's too young—she needs to pass the twenty-four solar terms, a full year's cycle, to break free.
"That thing on *Blind Third* is a *cold altar mad soldier*, unbound and bloodthirsty. We can't fight it or dare provoke it.
"If you were ordinary, killing its body would've just sent it to find another. But with your spirit root, it marked you, cursed you.
"It won't stop until it devours your three souls and seven spirits, claiming your body."
Li Yan's blood ran cold, but he stayed steady. "Why tell me all this, elder?"
The girl jabbered again, sounding agitated.
Widow Wang sighed. "My skills are weak, my protections shaky. If it takes your body, it'll sense my girl. We won't escape either."
So that's it.
Li Yan's voice hardened. "Is there a way to stop it?"
Widow Wang said, "Chang'an's full of temples and mystics. If you reach one before nightfall, a master might shield you.
"But your grandpa could face its wrath."
Li Yan shook his head. "That won't work."
With travel as it was, Chang'an was unreachable by dark. Even if he could make it, he'd never abandon his grandpa.
Widow Wang seemed to expect this. After muttering with the girl, she said, "There's another way, but it takes guts."
Li Yan straightened. "Tell me."
He had no choice now.
Widow Wang and the immortal might be hiding something, but their goals aligned for now: end the threat. He had to trust them.
Widow Wang spoke. "Get two big roosters. Soak rice in your blood, mix it with peach wood shavings and your burned hair. Feed it to them.
"The thing strikes at midnight. Tie the roosters outside with red rope, then dig a three-foot pit and bury yourself in it.
"The *mad soldier* won't find you and will take the roosters instead. At dawn, cut open their bellies. Check if black water flows from their organs.
"If it does, burn the dead roosters on willow wood at noon.
"If not, try again the next night.
"But heed this: no matter what you hear or see, stay hidden. Do *not* break the soil!"
With that, the girl yawned, tears and snot streaming, collapsing like a deflated balloon, snoring deeply.
Speaking had exhausted her.
Li Yan took his leave to prepare.
Stepping out, the yard's stench hit again.
Covering his nose, he eyed the foul jars. "Can these block ghosts or evil things?"
Widow Wang's face soured, shaking her head. "Not ghosts, but something worse.
"And… nosy villagers."
…
Finding big roosters in the village was easy.
Li Yan's family had some, but to avoid Grandpa's questions, he bought two from neighbors—red-crowned, vibrant, proud.
Roosters, heralds of dawn, were said to ward off evil and the five poisons.
But sniffing them, Li Yan caught no special scent. Widow Wang's method used no ritual tools.
What was the logic behind it?
Puzzled but determined, he followed her instructions.
He ground peach wood, burned his hair to ash, mixed it with millet and his blood, starved the roosters a day, and fed them just before sunset.
The pit was ready—dug in his room while Grandpa sunned outside, lined with oilcloth, covered with loose soil.
Night fell.
Before midnight, Li Family Village sank into darkness, silent.
The moon, nearing full, cast a frosty glow.
Dressed in short clothes, legs bound, Li Yan tied the roosters to a tree outside with blood-soaked red rope.
He shut the gate tight, returned to his room, and pulled the oilcloth. Loose soil cascaded, burying him.
He gripped his Guanshan blade, breathing through a bamboo tube.
Being buried alive felt awful. Though the soil was thin, it was like drowning—darkness, helplessness, fear surging unbidden.
Worse, he faced the unknown *cold altar mad soldier*.
His martial training steeled his mind, though. He held his breath, waiting in silence.
Buried, his hearing dulled. Last night's faint knocks would be inaudible.
All he could do was wait.
The night passed.
After midnight, faint rooster crows stirred him. Li Yan thrust his arms up, broke through the soil, and rushed outside, blade in hand.
Dawn hadn't broken, but the scene was clear.
As Widow Wang predicted, the roosters were dead—beyond dead. Feces littered the ground, their necks twisted grotesquely.
Without hesitation, Li Yan sliced open a belly, his face darkening.
The rooster's organs were mangled, a bloody mess.
But no black water flowed…
*Please collect, recommend, vote, and comment.*
(End of Chapter)