"Baolu, you worthless idiot! What nonsense are you screaming? Shut your mouth!" Innkeeper Zheng was fuming, unable to restrain his angry shout.
"A ghost?" Zhao Qingran's eyes widened with excitement. "Xiao Chan, quick, tell Uncle Cheng we're going over to see!"
"Wei Zimu," she commanded, turning to the other guards, "the rest of you are temporarily under your command. Guard the luggage and horses. Do not alarm anyone." After instructing her subordinates, she turned to see Xiao Chan pouting with clear reluctance. Zhao Qingran couldn't help but laugh. "What are you afraid of? With me and Uncle Cheng here, and the Daoist too, you'll be safe. I'll protect you."
Back at the tavern, Baolu, after receiving a few kicks from the innkeeper, finally managed to explain the situation haltingly. Wang Er's wife had hanged herself. The bizarre part was that Wang Er's seventy-year-old mother was now rampaging through the house, one moment claiming her husband and mother-in-law were beating and scolding her, the next cursing that Wang Er deserved to die without sons to honor him, her voice and tone identical to the deceased Wang née Liu.
Inside the tavern, Wang Er, his face ashen, was walking out, cursing under his breath about the "worthless bitch" who should have died long ago. Xu Zhixing and the others, along with bold and curious patrons, followed the crowd toward the village.
Listening to the gossip along the way, they pieced together the story. The woman scolding in the fields that morning had been Wang Er's mother. It turned out Wang née Liu was a pitiable soul. Orphaned young, she was raised in her uncle's household where, from the time she could understand, she worked like a hired hand. When she grew up, her aunt, coveting the betrothal gifts from Wang Er's family, agreed to the marriage without regard for his character. After marrying, she never enjoyed a single good day.
Wang Er had lost his father early, and his elder brother had died in childhood. His mother doted excessively on this youngest son. Though a farming family, he was never made to do heavy labor from childhood, waited on hand and foot, cared for meticulously.
He was no scholar, nor did he farm. He loafed around the village from a young age, stirring up trouble. As an adult, he gathered a pack of ne'er-do-wells and spent his years in the county town engaged in fraud and trickery. What little money he had was lost in gambling dens or spent in the brothel quarters. Later, he offended someone powerful in the city and was forced to flee back to the countryside.
After marriage, he continued living like a lord. The work in the fields was always handled by née Liu. Over several years, she bore three daughters in a row. Coupled with overwork damaging her vitality and blood, she could no longer conceive. From then on, beatings and scoldings from her husband and mother-in-law became commonplace. After her daughters were married off, she, at sixty, looked as aged as Wang Er's mother.
That morning, Wang Er's mother insisted that one of the eggs saved for selling was missing, accusing her daughter-in-law of stealing and eating it. She chased her to the fields and unleashed a torrent of foul language.
Perhaps the years of accumulated torment had reached their limit, or perhaps being humiliated in front of so many villagers—her mother-in-law calling her a chicken that couldn't lay eggs, a habitual thief, claiming she had eaten up the Wang family's fortune in descendants, leaving only three "money-losing girls"—was the final straw. Née Liu ran home crying, her heart hardened, and hanged herself in the bedroom.
After her daughter-in-law ran off crying, the old woman followed, cursing all the way, complaining to every neighbor she met. When she got home and heard no sound from inside for a long time, she discovered her daughter-in-law had hanged herself. Furious and terrified, she cursed even more fiercely. But moments later, she suddenly stiffened and collapsed. When she opened her eyes again, she was as she was now.
As the crowd stood outside the courtyard, they could hear wailing and cursing inside. At the doorway, they saw the courtyard was a mess—clothes, quilts, pots, bowls, and ladles strewn everywhere. Before they could get a clear look, a startled cry sounded. Wang Er crashed out, his seventy-year-old mother brandishing a kitchen knife, chasing him with vigorous strides.
The crowd at the gate scattered with a whoosh. Zhao Qingran pulled Xiao Chan into her embrace and glanced at Duanmu Cheng. The latter understood, darting out like an arrow. The crowd only saw a blur, and the knight who had been beside them was already several meters away, restraining the crazed old woman.
Wang Er's legs gave way, and he collapsed to the ground, panting and cursing. "You bitch... You... You..." His mouth moved, but he didn't know what to say—curse his mother or his wife? His expression shifted between shock, anger, and, most of all, fear.
Duanmu Cheng was having a hard time. This frail old woman possessed immense strength. He had to use at least half his strength just to hold her, and she seemed impervious to fatigue and pain, struggling incessantly. If he applied more force, he feared he might break her bones.
Though immobilized, Wang Er's mother was furious, her eyes wide and round, cursing nonstop—decades of suffering and bitterness, a wrongful death, today she would make sure the Wang family knew no peace, dragging them all down to the underworld. They say there's nothing greater than death, a true insight. Now that she was already dead, what was there to fear? No wonder the usually docile and submissive Liu was so fierce now.
"Haunting by a vengeful spirit," Xu Zhixing said softly, recalling an experience his grandfather had once described.
Zhao Qingran looked at Xu Zhixing curiously. She had only heard stories of people encountering ghosts but never thought she would experience it herself. With a seemingly capable Daoist by her side, she was full of anticipation to see how he would handle it.
The onlooking villagers, never shy of drama, were all discussing how this situation would be hard to resolve. Scholar Chen was in the crowd, looking disdainfully at Wang Er cowering on the ground, his face full of schadenfreude. This ruffian often contradicted him, but his reckless nature made him hard to deal with. Today's events were perfect material to report to the village head and pass up to the county magistrate, charging him with causing a death, making sure he was skinned alive even if he didn't die.
As he was gleeful, he turned and saw Xu Zhixing also present. A thought occurred to him. This little Daoist with his unkempt hair has always been slow-witted. I don't know how he's become clever recently, not as submissive as before, even daring to speak to me with his head held high. Today, he's somehow gotten lucky, walking with these noble guests, seemingly quite close. What abilities does this little Daoist have? Everyone has seen it over the years. The old Daoist Pingyang only knew how to read the almanac; what skill could he have? This is the perfect chance to make a fool of him and, in doing so, get closer to the noble guests. Why not?
Thinking of this, Scholar Chen was immensely pleased with his own quick wit. He immediately cupped his hands and said, "Daoist Qingxu, this matter requires your expertise. Your master, the True Man Pingyang, though ascended, was a renowned master in his day. Expelling evil and capturing ghosts must have been his forte. A renowned master produces a talented disciple; you must have mastered all his skills. Wang Er's wife is so fierce; what if she hurts someone? I beg you, Daoist, out of compassion and our years of neighborly ties, to lend your aid!"
Scholar Chen spoke sincerely, his face full of grief, but his gaze kept drifting toward Zhao Qingran. The watching villagers instantly turned their eyes to Xu Zhixing. After all, he was a Daoist, the only one in Xishan Hollow since Daoist Pingyang's passing.
Xu Zhixing was exasperated. What was Scholar Chen playing at? The old Daoist had only ever selected dates and assessed burial sites; when had he ever captured ghosts? But looking around, Xiao Chan was looking at him half in belief, half in doubt, while Zhao Qingran and Duanmu Cheng also wore expectant expressions.
At this moment, if he backed down, everything he had said and done would be exposed as empty boasts. How could he establish himself or interact with his new friends? So be it. His grandfather had told many stories of encountering ghosts during his travels. He remembered the general process for handling them. He would treat a dead horse as a live one to doctor. He stopped hesitating.
"Little Sister Chan, could I trouble you to break off a willow branch for me? A lush, green one with plenty of leaves," Xu Zhixing said gently.
"Me?" Xiao Chan looked at Zhao Qingran, then at Xu Zhixing. "Just a willow branch?"
"Yes, just a willow branch. One is enough. It should be vibrant, with new buds. There are some by the field ridge over there," Xu Zhixing pointed. "The ridge is a bit slippery; mind your step."
"Alright." Xiao Chan took a deep breath. Seeing the Daoist's encouraging and confident expression, she suddenly found courage and walked over quickly.
"Wang Er, stand up like a man. Go look around, see who has a vibrant rooster. Buy it promptly, and don't shortchange anyone," Xu Zhixing said without any courtesy. But in this situation, Wang Er found it perfectly reasonable. He scrambled up and began bowing repeatedly to a woman in the crowd.
"Sister-in-law Liu, please be magnanimous. I was a dog's mouth that couldn't spit out ivory before, my words offended you. Today, you must save me and my mother. Please sell me your big rooster."
Xu Zhixing ignored his poultry purchase and turned to Zhao Qingran. "Do you have a short sword or dagger I could borrow?"
Zhao Qingran thought he would ask for her help in performing the spell, but he only wanted to borrow a dagger. She immediately drew one from the side of her riding boot and handed it over, asking curiously, "To kill the ghost or the chicken?"
Xu Zhixing didn't reply, silently reviewing the process in his mind.
When everything was ready, he picked up the willow branch and walked over to Duanmu Cheng. The old woman was still struggling, her lamentations bloody and bitter. "Little Daoist, what business is my family affair of yours? They beat and cursed me for decades; did anyone stand up for me then? Now I seek my own revenge, and you interfere? If you help him, I will make sure you die a horrible death!"
Hearing her heart-wrenching cries, the crowd felt a pang of sympathy. Wang Er and his mother had truly sinned, driving someone to death. Perhaps they should just let her be, let her hack Wang Er to death and be done with it.
Wang Er, holding the rooster, knelt behind Xu Zhixing, trembling and kowtowing incessantly. "Great Master, Great Master, I was wrong. I will truly turn over a new leaf. You must save me, save my mother!"
Xiao Chan's eyes reddened. She looked at Zhao Qingran's troubled expression, then at Xu Zhixing, her heart aching for Liu's injustice.
If Liu herself had raised a knife to kill Wang Er, perhaps he really wouldn't have wanted to interfere. But he understood clearly now; since vengeful spirits of the wrongfully dead truly existed, it seemed his grandfather's teachings were factual.
The spirits of those who suffered injustice and died violent deaths, their true consciousness clouded by resentment, would inevitably seek those they hated, ruining their families and scattering their wives and children. Killing one person would increase the resentment by one measure; it wasn't as common folk believed, that revenge would dissipate the spirit. When the resentment grew extremely strong and the true consciousness was extinguished, it would have become a malicious ghost, harming how many more innocent people and creating how many irredeemable sins?
These thoughts occupied his mind, leaving no time to explain to others. Xu Zhixing looked solemnly at the person before him, speaking calmly. "Heaven's principles are clear; retribution is inexorable. Wang née Liu, their evil deeds will be investigated by the authorities in the world of the living. Their damaged virtue will be traced in the underworld, every deed recorded. Know that the gods' eyes are like lightning, seeing all sins committed in dark rooms. You have suffered injustice, but if you create more killing karma, you will not escape the underworld's judgment. It is better to withdraw now. I will chant the 'Taishang Decree Rebirth Chant' for seven days to help you escape the sea of suffering sooner."
Seeing that Wang née Liu still struggled and cursed incessantly, Xu Zhixing said no more. He concentrated his spirit and quieted his breath, silently reciting, "Heaven and Earth have an upright energy, imbued with myriad forms. Below, it becomes rivers and mountains; above, it becomes the sun and stars. In humans, it is called the Vast Spirit, filling the vast heavens." The willow branch in his hand swished down, striking Wang Er's mother with each line.
The Daoist isn't chanting an exorcism spell but Minister Wen's 'Song of the Upright Energy'? In truth, this was something Xu Zhixing had learned from his grandfather's stories.
Once, a high monk, passing a village, saw an old woman with what seemed like a Buddha's light above her head. Astonished, he asked about her cultivation method. The old woman said she didn't cultivate any magic, only that a monk had given her a slip of paper with a chant, which she recited sincerely every day. The monk asked what the chant was. The old woman replied, "Om mani padme hum." The monk then explained that these were the Buddhist six-syllable mantra, but the old woman had misread the last character. It was "Om mani padme hum." The old woman gladly accepted the correction.
Years later, when the monk visited the old woman again, he found the Buddha's light above her head had vanished. Puzzled, he asked if she still recited the mantra. The old woman said she recited it daily, constantly reminding herself not to mispronounce it again.
His grandfather had said: "The wonder of application lies in the heart. Mantras and chants are merely methods to calm the practitioner's spirit and focus the mind. How can chanting a few words alone subdue demons and vanquish evil?"
From then on, Xu Zhixing had used this passage from the "Song of the Upright Energy" as his own chant. When troubled or indecisive, silently reciting it brought him peace. He never expected to use it for exorcism today.
Xu Zhixing didn't know if this method would work, but Duanmu Cheng, straining with effort, felt a clear change. The Daoist's strikes with the willow branch were gentle, but with each strike, the old woman's strength seemed to wane. It appeared Daoist Qingxu was truly a hidden master with real skill, just unwilling to show it. As he pondered, the old woman's legs suddenly went weak, all her strength vanishing instantly. She would have collapsed to the ground if he weren't holding her up.
The onlookers, seeing the spell's miraculous effect, couldn't help but exclaim. Wang Er, seeing this, was overjoyed, kneeling there with no strength left.
Scholar Chen was dumbfounded. He never expected this unremarkable, slow-witted little Daoist to truly possess the means to exorcise ghosts, and so effortlessly at that. It was nothing like the masters he'd seen before, who built altars, chanted, danced with swords, and used numerous ritual tools and talismans. Could a willow branch really be so effective? If I encounter such a thing in the future, couldn't I also show off in front of people?
Seeing the method was effective, Xu Zhixing relaxed. The old woman, though no longer resisting, still had bloodshot eyes wide open, and a guttural "heh, heh" sound came from her throat. Without hesitation, he drew the dagger and made a swift cut on the tip of his left middle finger. As blood welled, he pointed it directly onto the old woman's forehead.
A tingling, numbing sensation traveled up his finger. The crowd seemed to hear a faint scream. The old woman's head lolled, her eyes closed, as if she had completely lost consciousness. Seeing the slight rise and fall of her chest, Xu Zhixing was relieved. This hurdle seemed passed.
He turned and saw Wang Er, shouting sternly, "Aren't you going to get over here and kowtow sincerely, begging for her forgiveness?" In truth, this wasn't necessary, but Xu Zhixing despised his character and wanted him to kneel a while longer.
"Later, kill this rooster and sprinkle its blood in a circle around the courtyard walls. Place the rooster's head above the door," Xu Zhixing thought for a moment and added, "Bury your wife properly. Don't shortchange her in the seasonal offerings."
Wang Er, a coward who bullied the soft and feared the tough, didn't dare disobey in the slightest after this ordeal. He immediately set about doing as Xu Zhixing instructed.
Scholar Chen memorized every detail. Apart from the finger-cutting, which made him wince, everything else seemed ordinary. He never thought it would really work. He just didn't know if the Daoist had chanted anything. I helped him gain such face today; asking him for an exorcism chant shouldn't be too difficult. He began planning to invite the young Daoist for a drink tomorrow morning and definitely ask for a ghost-expelling spell.
While fully focused, he hadn't felt it, but now, relaxing, Xu Zhixing felt exceptionally tired. Moreover, during the exorcism, he seemed to have gained some insight and needed a quiet place to reflect properly. Seeing the villagers' looks of awe and admiration, he simply cupped his hands in salute, turned, and prepared to return to the temple to rest.
"Daoist… Daoist… Wait for me!" Xiao Chan, her face excited, chased after him. Earlier, in the woods, she had overheard Xu Zhixing's conversation with Duanmu Cheng, though she had been slightly biased against him then. But after witnessing his exorcism and his encouraging smile, she felt much closer and said happily, "Brother Xu, wait for me!"
"You lied to me earlier, saying you couldn't perform magic!" Once familiar, Xiao Chan became more talkative. "Why don't you come with us to Mount Hengliang?"
"Daoist, you truly cannot perform magic?" Zhao Qingran's lips curved slightly.
Xu Zhixing smiled wryly. He knew his own limits; the exorcism was a fluke. Their group was well-prepared and planned. His going would only be a burden.
"Truly, I cannot," Xu Zhixing clasped his hands again. "What happened earlier was merely chance. The companions traveling with you, Miss, are all brave warriors who have battled on bloody sands. Such men, having traversed mountains of corpses and seas of blood, have wills strong as steel. United in heart, ordinary monsters would not dare offend. Your journey to Mount Hengliang will surely achieve its wish. This Daoist will not add to the chaos."
"Brother Xu, then can you draw a spirit talisman for the young mistress?" Xiao Chan, hearing he wouldn't go, asked plaintively.
Xu Zhixing pondered for a moment, then said clearly, "A single point of numinous light is the talisman; Mortals mistakenly trust ink and cinnabar. If the spirit does not scatter and the primal yang is settled, Myriad strangeities and a thousand monsters are all swept away."
"Everyone, we part here. May we meet again if fate allows." Having said that, he turned and left.
Zhao Qingran, hearing this, pondered briefly. It was as if the fog before her eyes was instantly swept away. Watching Xu Zhixing's receding figure, she called out loudly, "Brother Xu, I, Zhao Qingran, hope we meet again someday."