A flicker of firelight appeared, bringing a touch of warmth to the darkness.
Ergou let out a sigh of relief, but the scene before him sent his heart racing to his throat, a chill creeping down his spine, his limbs growing weak.
Ahead lay a mountain valley, not particularly large.
Near the back of the valley stood a mountain god temple, long neglected and in ruins. Several burly beggars stood guard outside, their bodies greasy and covered in festering sores.
Around the dilapidated temple were tents of various sizes.
Bonfires burned everywhere, with large pots set up over them.
At least a hundred beggars had gathered here.
The elderly, with white hair and withered frames, their eyes clouded and lifeless, crouched like corpses, devoid of any vitality…
The young, barely seven or eight years old, wore tattered rags, their faces smeared black, some even crippled, fanning the fires fiercely by the pots…
These wandering beggars had their own way of cooking.
They pooled all the food they'd begged—steamed buns, moldy flatbreads, even leftovers from taverns—dumping everything into a single large pot to stew.
Much of it had gone sour, and the stench was predictable.
Even so, the beggars squatted by the fires, swallowing hard with hunger.
What truly unnerved Ergou, however, was the other side.
There, in an open clearing, the strongest beggars had gathered, each holding a dog-beating stick, forming a large circle and striking the ground rhythmically.
In the center, a wild dog darted frantically.
These dogs, scavengers of the chaotic graveyard, fed on human flesh, their eyes blood-red, their bodies as large as starving wolves, heads marked by lumps from years of crashing into coffins—fierce to the extreme.
Yet now, this dog was panic-stricken, whimpering in distress.
Amid the relentless thumping of the dog-beating sticks, it seemed to lose its senses, circling aimlessly as if trapped by a ghost wall, unable to flee.
Around it slithered venomous snakes, heads raised, fangs bared, hissing as they struck at the dog whenever an opening appeared.
Soon, the dog succumbed to the poison, collapsing in rigid tremors.
The snakes swarmed, burrowing into its mouth and orifices…
Ergou, who had never witnessed such a bizarre scene, stood frozen, hands and feet ice-cold, not daring to move.
"Move it! What are you waiting for?"
The old beggar leading the way barked at him.
"Y-Yes, sir."
Ergou hurriedly followed, keeping his head low, trying to stay inconspicuous.
Step by step, he trailed the old beggar into the ruined temple.
"Grandfather, the man's here," the old beggar reported, bowing before stepping aside.
Ergou swallowed hard, stealing a glance upward.
On the stone platform where a god's statue once stood, the mountain deity's figure had long been removed. In its place was a corpulent beggar, fat-headed and big-eared.
His massive frame sprawled there, chest and belly exposed, layers of flab piling atop one another, his bald head gleaming with oil.
Like the others, his body was riddled with sores.
This was the leader of Xianyang's wandering beggars.
A mysterious figure, he had taken root in Xianyang years ago, rarely dealing with the city's gangs. The beggars called him Mountain Lord.
A pungent stench hit Ergou, nearly making him gag, but he didn't dare show it. Respectfully cupping his hands, he said, "This humble one greets the Mountain Lord!"
"Hm."
The beggar leader, Mountain Lord, was so obese his eyelids bulged like bulbs. Even straining to open them, they seemed mere slits to others.
He eyed Ergou below, his tone flat. "Iron Blade Gang, under that old monkey's disciple, right?"
"We've always kept the peace—well water not touching river water. What brings you here?"
Ergou quickly cupped his hands again, cutting to the chase. "The gang leader asks for your help to deal with a few outsiders who don't know the rules…"
After explaining the situation, he pulled several silver notes from his chest, offering a fawning smile. "To you, it's a trifling matter. This is a token of our respect."
The notes totaled three hundred taels.
Truth be told, it was more than they'd swindled from the Chunfeng Troupe's young master.
But at this point, it wasn't about money.
Zheng Heibei would rather spend some silver to settle this matter quietly.
Mountain Lord glanced at the notes, seemingly uninterested, and waved a hand. "Take it and go. The poor don't cling to wealth, nor do we play hired muscle for others."
"This…"
Ergou panicked. "Mountain Lord, we're all scraping by in Xianyang, crossing paths often. Do us this favor, and the Iron Blade Gang will owe you one."
The beggar leader pondered briefly. "Favors mean little, and take your silver. But I need you to find someone for me."
Ergou, puzzled, gave a dry laugh. "Mountain Lord, you jest. Your followers are all over Xianyang. Your network's sharper than ours, isn't it?"
The beggar leader said coolly, "The poor don't enter grand houses like those Rong family thieves. Our ancestors' rules forbid it—we wander thousands of homes, linger at doorsteps, but never cross the threshold."
"And some places, we're chased off the moment we get near."
Ergou understood at once. "Who are you looking for?"
Mountain Lord slowly rose, scratching his greasy belly.
"A few months ago, bandits attacked Guishui Village outside the city, burning it to the ground. You've heard of it?"
"I have," Ergou said with a smile. "It was an inside job with outside bandits. Amusingly, Master Lu's concubine sold off land in a frenzy, swindling several parties. Quite the scheme."
"You're looking for her?"
"Truth be told, we're after that fat sheep too."
"Not her," Mountain Lord said faintly. "Another concubine. If I'm not mistaken, she's still hiding in Xianyang City!"
…
As Wang Daoxuan had predicted, the rain stopped the next day, and the sky cleared.
Early in the morning, the three arrived at the Chunfeng Troupe's courtyard.
Today, Wang Daoxuan wore a clean Taoist robe, his tools packed in a scholar's carrying case, borne by Sha Lifei.
The troupe had already gathered.
Since the Iron Blade Gang's visit the previous day, no one had returned, allowing them a peaceful night's sleep. But everyone knew the matter was far from over.
No matter how innocent the troupe master's son was, or how he'd been swindled, the IOUs held by the Iron Blade Gang were airtight—legally unassailable.
Even if they didn't harass further, a trip to the yamen would ruin the troupe.
Anger, helplessness, and rage were useless. That was the reality.
People like them avoided officials at all costs. How could they compete with thugs who straddled the line between lawful and lawless?
The gangs in Tianjin even dared to extort warehouses, profiting off the court's coffers!
Thus, the troupe had only one path left:
Perform a ghost play!
Such jobs weren't uncommon. When places were plagued by disturbances, ancestral halls grew restless, or mishaps occurred at weddings or funerals—short of hiring proper Taoist priests to exorcise evil—people would hire troupes to perform ghost plays to appease spirits, with generous pay.
The first step was inviting a yin deity strong enough to hold the stage.
Seeing the resolute faces of the Chunfeng Troupe, Wang Daoxuan sighed inwardly but grew sterner. "Everyone, do you know the rules?"
"I'll go over them again."
"We set out at noon, reaching the chaotic graveyard by night. Once we find the spot, everyone washes their hands. During my ritual, silently recite the deity invocation…"
"Remember, on the mountain, never call animals by their names. Tigers are 'big bugs,' bears are 'old masters,' eagles are 'grand sirs,' hedgehogs are 'Second Master White,' foxes are 'Third Great Lord,' and ghosts are 'Clear Breeze Lords'…"
"I don't know what we'll summon, so be respectful. You never know which creature has gained a spark of divinity and might cause trouble…"
"And during the ritual, not a word must be spoken."
"When I say 'It's here,' you all shout 'We've received it!' then head down the mountain immediately. No matter what you hear behind you, do not look back…"
Wang Daoxuan explained meticulously, leaving no room for error.
Truthfully, many troupes performed such deity-inviting rituals, often annually, with their own signs and omens.
Sheep, dogs, cows, or gentle breezes were auspicious. Wild boars were the best, symbolizing all-around fortune.
Rabbits or birds, however, meant a year of wandering.
Often, troupes performed these rituals themselves, fleeing at the sound of animal calls, unsure if they'd summoned anything. Some were mere ceremonies.
But the Chunfeng Troupe was different.
To invite a yin deity capable of holding the stage without causing harm, not a single mistake could be made, even with vague taboos.
As Wang Daoxuan lectured, Sha Lifei sidled up to Li Yan, his face troubled, whispering, "I heard some news at the teahouse this morning."
"That old monkey Zhou Pan has reached the level of transforming strength. He won't act himself, but his disciples, all trained in hidden strength, are eager to kill you to curry his favor."
"I also heard something else. When your father, Li Hu, was alive, he was close with Guan Wanche, the head constable of Xianyang's yamen. Why not ask him to mediate…"
"Guan Wanche?"
Li Yan frowned, then scoffed. "When Father was alive, he never mentioned this man. In all these years, he's never visited. If they knew each other, it was likely a passing acquaintance."
"This arena fight is mine alone!"
"Yours alone?"
Sha Lifei was exasperated. "You're barely grown! Even with potential, you're only at the peak of open strength. They can pierce your organs with a single strike, making you spit blood."
"How will you fight? Are you rushing to your death?"
Li Yan said nothing, staring at his palm. Then, gently placing it on a nearby sapling, he took a deep breath and pressed hard.
Rustle!
The tree's leaves cascaded to the ground…
*(End of Chapter)*