“Don’t meddle in things that don’t concern you!” The Good Brother trailing behind Little Yellow Hair glared sinisterly at Chen Ji. His entire body was grotesquely bloated, his face a sickly greenish-black. His belly especially protruded hugely, like a woman ten months pregnant, with eerie bulges occasionally rippling across the skin, as if a real infant were squirming inside.
Chen Ji’s expression remained perfectly calm and composed, utterly ignoring the horrifying sight. He was the first to offer a cigarette. The Good Brother paused for a stunned moment before taking it from Chen Ji’s hand. “Thanks, man!”
Chen Ji rubbed his fingers together. Second Master Huang obligingly lit both cigarettes with a spark. Chen Ji spoke up. “We’re all reasonable folks here. That young kid’s been making offerings to you for days now. Even if it doesn’t count as a favor, it’s hardly a grudge. No need to keep haunting the kid, right, big brother?”
The male ghost took a drag, a twisted look of pleasure distorting his bloated features as he bared a mouthful of huge yellow teeth. “He offered me blood and food of his own accord. What right does he have to just stop whenever he feels like it?”
Second Master Huang sneered. “Why bother talking sense with him? This water ghost has his eye on the kid. He wants to drag him down as a substitute.”
The water ghost let out a heh-heh chuckle. “Water ghosts claiming substitutes? It’s the natural order of things! Even the Jade Emperor himself couldn’t argue otherwise!”
“It’s only because this kid’s been feeding me that I’m letting him live a few more days!”
What the water ghost meant was clear: as long as the blood offerings continued each day, he wouldn’t drown Little Yellow Hair as a substitute. The moment they stopped, he’d drag him under.
“I remember there haven’t been any drownings around these parts in years,” Chen Ji said, eyeing the water ghost. “Where’d you come from, big brother?”
“None of your damn business where I’m from.” The water ghost took a puff, eyeing Chen Ji with malicious intent. “I’ve made up my mind anyway. You want me to let that Little Yellow Hair go? Fine—unless you step in as my substi—”
“Aaagh!” The water ghost hadn’t even finished before he let out a agonized scream. The cigarette at the corner of his mouth suddenly exploded. His massive, misshapen body crashed to the ground with a boom. Thin threads of pale golden lightning snaked across his form. He thrashed and convulsed on the dirt. “Fk you! What the hell did you put in this thing…?”
Chen Ji tossed his cigarette to the ground and crushed it underfoot. He reached into the sack and pulled out a chicken. Hadn’t he just bought two from Granny Zhang? She’d gone to the trouble of sending him all the way over and sorting out what was going on, so she hadn’t felt right taking his money. Her chickens were running low anyway, so she’d given him one rooster and one hen.
Chen Ji glanced at the comb—it was a rooster.
The rooster he’d yanked out didn’t even have time to flap twice before Chen Ji snapped its neck. He hadn’t brought a small knife. “Second Grandpa, make a cut.”
Even Second Master Huang was momentarily stunned by Chen Ji’s swift, practiced motion. Hearing the request, he extended a front paw. Chen Ji gripped it and slashed the chicken’s neck. Hot blood spurted from the wound and rolled down. The water ghost reacted as if splashed with sulfuric acid—vast patches of corrosion bubbled up across his body.
Chen Ji’s face remained impassive as he widened the gash on the chicken’s neck a bit more, evenly distributing the rooster blood over the water ghost’s entire form. Rooster blood was a potent yang substance, one of the easiest-to-obtain nemeses for ghosts and monsters.
Black dog blood worked too, but for Chen Ji, rooster blood was more convenient.
“Aaah—! It hurts so much! Please, I know I was wrong—! Spare me—! I’ll leave right now! I’ll leave!” The water ghost’s enormous body rolled across the ground, splattering yellow, white, and green pus everywhere.
Chen Ji had ignored the water ghost’s terrifying appearance before. Now he ignored its agonized howls just as easily.
The talks had broken down anyway. There was nothing left to say. Once this was settled, he still had chicken to stew back on the mountain.
It wasn’t long before the water ghost fell silent. Chen Ji turned to Second Master Huang. “Second Grandpa, is this guy dead?”
Second Master Huang twitched his mouth. “His soul’s utterly dispersed.”
Chen Ji was about to point out that the body was still lying there intact when the water ghost dissolved into a wisp of pale smoke and vanished.
Chen Ji nodded in satisfaction and patted Second Master Huang’s head. “Second Grandpa, let’s head back up the mountain. The chicken’s dead—if we don’t cook it soon, it won’t be fresh anymore.”
Second Master Huang manifested his true form. No need to say more—time to get in the car! Home for chicken!
A streak of black lightning hurtled in from the distance. Even from afar, Daoist Qingjing could sense it was a powerful yao beast. He gripped the talisman in his palm tightly, wary. Little Azure Mountain was far too eerie—who knew if this was friend or foe…
…Oh wait, what did he have to fear? He could just call Chen Ji first!
As the local expert, he’d know for sure!
Moments later, Chen Ji picked up the video call. The scenery behind him blurred into colorful streaks, with tufts of flying black fur below. “Something up?”
“It’s fine now.” Daoist Qingjing let out a breath of relief and sat back down on the steps, crossing his legs. “I’m waiting for you at your place.”
Chen Ji didn’t want to open his mouth—wind would just blast right in. He nodded and hung up.
Before long, Daoist Qingjing saw the massive yao beast pull up right in front of him. He craned his neck up, staring in dumbfounded bewilderment at the enormous bow tied on Second Master Huang’s back. He just couldn’t process it.
Second Master Huang growled gruffly. “What’re you staring at?!”
Daoist Qingjing gave a big thumbs-up. “That ribbon looks great!”
Second Master Huang’s tone instantly softened. “You bet it does! Nice eye there, little cow nose! Chen Ji bought it for me! Pretty, huh? One-eighty for it! Pricey stuff!”
Daoist Qingjing was at a loss for words. Then he watched as Chen Ji slid down from Second Master Huang’s back. He let out another sigh of relief. “My master ancestor asked me to bring you some things.”
“We’ll talk inside,” Chen Ji said.
Daoist Qingjing knew the Mountain Lord Statue was draped in silk, so he wasn’t too nervous—he’d been invited in, bearing gifts to visit a friend. Perfectly reasonable. Surely the Mountain Lord wouldn’t trick him inside just to kill him. He had backing too!
Only then did Daoist Qingjing notice the sack in Chen Ji’s hand. A glaring red stain soaked one corner, with fresh blood dripping down, carrying a thick bloody stench.
Daoist Qingjing’s nose twitched keenly. “What’s in there?”
It couldn’t be chunks of human, could it?
Chen Ji had always been a bit odd—probably Little Azure Mountain’s influence. Sure, he was good-looking with a decent temper, but he didn’t exactly seem upright and proper.
Maybe it was the blindness. Those eyes had reached a point where even normal folks would find them creepy—pitch-black and bottomless, without a speck of light. In his own words, the eyes of a dead man.
In anyone else, the sack might hold pork or chicken without raising eyebrows. But with Chen Ji’s current vibe, chicken would make you suspect he’d wrung its neck bare-handed, and pork would have you thinking he’d gnaw into it raw any second… Like the horror of him looking up with blood smeared across his mouth and face, saying, “Raw meat’s delicious—want some?”
—So what the hell were those three from S City thinking, going after him?
…Maybe that was exactly their thing?
Chen Ji had no qualms about meeting Daoist Qingjing’s gaze without so much as lowering his eyes to hide them. Why bother? They’d been seen before.
He led Daoist Qingjing inside. The Daoist tactfully lit incense in the main hall first, making it all above-board. When he emerged, Chen Ji was sitting on the veranda. As he opened his mouth to speak, Chen Ji beckoned him over. “Come take my pulse.”
Daoist Qingjing was no slouch at diagnostics. He felt Chen Ji’s wrist and immediately looked up in surprise—even a normal person with this pulse probably couldn’t get out of bed.
His first words were: “You really got gangbanged?”
How else could a heavy injury produce this pulse? In just a day and a night, how had Chen Ji’s vital signs deteriorated so sharply?
“Get lost,” Chen Ji said without even lifting his eyes. He slightly raised the hem of his robe with both hands, elegantly crossing his legs, then brushed off his garment. The long robe looked good on him today—vaguely like a literati from the Republican era, refined and serene. “I’m not an idiot.”
“Then what happened?” Daoist Qingjing felt the pulse a bit longer. “This isn’t just depleted vital energy—you’ve damaged your very foundation… It’s like starting a run on raw strength, then switching to endurance once that’s spent. But no matter how tough your will, the body’s limits are there. Push past, and you start burning your core.”
Chen Ji nodded, breezy as ever. “I wasn’t like this this morning.”
“Then what?”
“After I got back, I did two special things. First, I practiced drawing talismans for a bit. Second, I went down to the village. Saw a young guy with something unclean trailing him, so I patted his shoulder and brushed off the yin qi.”
Daoist Qingjing gaped, equal parts exasperated and amused. “No one’s ever taught you?”
“Taught me what?” Chen Ji shot back.
He was self-taught on all this anyway—just enough for self-defense. Who was there to teach him? Chen Ji glanced toward the main hall. The one inside was already merciful for not killing him—fat chance of lessons.
Daoist Qingjing sat down beside Chen Ji and explained patiently. “Drawing talismans requires focus and qi concentration. Each one finished drains a ton of energy—characters are manifestations of human spirit and vitality. You’re already weak; it’s no state for that.”
“And when you ‘pat away’ yin qi, you think it’s just a physical slap? You really believe raising your hand makes that intangible stuff vanish on its own?” Daoist Qingjing illustrated. “If there’s dust on clothes, you pat to shake it off with force, vibration, and wind. But yin qi’s formless. To disperse it, you’re burning your own vital energy.”
He shrugged. “Your body’s already frail. String together two acts that consume spirit and qi when you’re low to start with? Of course it shortens your lifespan.”
Chen Ji nodded, getting it now. “Can it be cured?”
“Of course,” Daoist Qingjing said. “I’ll go back and have my master prescribe a formula for you, then get you some high-quality aged medicine. Take it for a year or so, and you’ll be fine.”
Chen Ji suddenly raised a hand to stop him. “Good medicine? I might have some.”
Daoist Qingjing: “……?”
What the heck? The prescription wasn’t even written yet—how did he already have medicine?!
He watched as Chen Ji rose to his feet and walked into the main hall. After lighting incense, Chen Ji leaned in and murmured softly to the Mountain Lord about the medicines he needed…
Daoist Qingjing: “……？？？”
