Chapter 59:
The Jiang King’s Tomb (Part 2):
“A Tai Yin Body, Of Course There’s No…”
Kunnan Mountain was a blessed place.
Imperial tombs, vessels of the dragon’s vein, were built on sites with impeccable feng shui, where earth and water converged in perfect harmony. Kunnan Mountain was such a place, a Daoist temple now standing at its foot, its incense smoke a constant offering, a place of pilgrimage for ordinary people.
But the deeper reaches of the mountain were forbidden, its treacherous terrain, dense forests, and hidden waterways a dangerous place for the unwary, its energy nurturing not only humans, but also spirits and demons. To wander there at night was to invite misfortune.
Chen Henian boarded the train, his least favorite mode of transportation. Tickets were easy to obtain, but seats were scarce, leaving him standing in the crowded aisle, the air thick with the smell of smoke, sweat, and vomit, a nightmare worse than any ghost.
Fortunately, Zuo He had connections, securing three sleeper tickets through his senior brothers. They spent a day and a night on the train, arriving in Jinnan, surviving on instant noodles, then transferring to a local bus, finally reaching the foot of the mountain.
A towering statue of Guanyin, carved from spirit stone, stood in the courtyard of the Daoist temple, its presence a ward against the mountain’s spirits, its beauty and the temple’s reputation attracting a constant stream of visitors. Chen Henian frowned, the air thick with the scent of humanity, a cacophony of voices, a sea of faces, beautiful and ugly, a grating assault on his senses.
The entrance fee was an added annoyance. Zuo He, prepared, led them to a side gate, the true entrance to Kunnan Mountain. He had intended to find the abbot, but they encountered familiar faces first.
“Little Brother Zuo, what are you doing here?”
Two men in white robes, wooden swords strapped to their backs, approached them, their attire that of Daoist priests, their faces young, but their demeanor older. “Junior disciples aren’t allowed to join the main gathering during this period. Leave now, before I report you to the elders.”
“I have urgent business, I need to go up the mountain,” Zuo He said, his voice urgent. “Brothers, please help me.”
“More important than your training?”
“Yes.”
“We understand.” Their expressions turned serious. “Follow us.”
“It’s fortunate we’re on duty today. If it were the Northern sect, you wouldn’t be so lucky.”
“We’ll let this slide, considering your youth, but don’t cause any trouble, understand?”
Zuo He nodded. “I know what I’m doing, Brothers, don’t worry.”
They led them to a small gate at the back of the temple.
“We trust you.” They glanced at Chen Henian and Jiang Wan, then unlocked the gate. “Go through this gate, follow the stone steps, you’ll reach a clearing with white tents. Our disciples and those from other sects are gathered there. Only the Southern, Northern, and Tianyin sects are allowed on the mountain. Be careful, and report to Grandmaster Yongjian immediately. Do not act alone.”
“Is my master there too?” Zuo He asked.
“Of course.” One of the men patted his shoulder. “Little Brother, take care of yourself.”
“I will, thank you, Brothers,” Zuo He bowed, and they left, locking the gate behind them.
Beyond the wall, a steep mountain path, the steps hidden among the trees, the summit shrouded in mist, its peaks like jagged teeth against the sky, the valley below a sea of white.
“We’ll be there in less than half an hour,” Zuo He said.
“Are we really going to meet them?” Jiang Wan asked, her foot on the first step, looking down at them, not yet ascending.
Zuo He looked up at her. “What else can we do?”
Jiang Wan twirled her fingers, mimicking walking on air. “I was thinking we could find the tomb ourselves, sneak in, open the coffin, and sneak out.”
“That’s not acceptable,” Zuo He frowned. “This is a serious matter, we have to join our sect.”
“Chen Henian, what do you think?” Jiang Wan turned to him. “I don’t care, but I’m worried about you. You’ve been hiding for so long, and now that you’ve appeared, those greedy old fools will be after you. You might not even make it to the tomb.”
Zuo He understood her concern. “He’ll be safe with our sect.”
“There are plenty of snakes in the grass among the orthodox sects,” Jiang Wan retorted.
“I’m a Southern Daoist, I know my sect. My master is there too. Even if the others don’t protect him, I will,” Zuo He’s voice was calm and steady. “If it comes to that, I’ll be the first to die. At least until then, you’ll be safe. That’s my responsibility.”
He stood there, his face serene, like an unyielding mountain, then turned to see Chen Henian looking at him strangely. Thinking he didn’t believe him, he raised his hand, swearing to the heavens, “I swear on my life, I won’t break this promise.”
“Crazy,” Chen Henian muttered, walking past them, ascending the stone steps.
“Well, it seems he’s made up his mind,” Jiang Wan shrugged, following him, their three shadows stretching across the steps.
News of the Jiang King’s tomb had spread throughout the Daoist community, the Southern sect, having discovered it, taking charge, forbidding folk practitioners and rogue cultivators from participating, a fortunate turn of events for Chen Henian.
They reached a clearing, surrounded by mountains, the grass neatly trimmed, paths worn into the earth, white tents dotting the landscape, the disciples in their white robes resembling fluttering banners.
Most Southern Daoists carried swords, the Northern Daoists wore strings of black beads, and the Tianyin disciples were veiled in black.
Only three sects, but their numbers were still considerable, a large crowd gathered, their attention focused on a heated argument, their bodies jostling, not fighting, but pushing and shoving.
A river of animosity separated them, their dispute centered on a jar.
“We worked together, why should it belong to your sect? Did our disciples not contribute?” a Tianyin disciple said, his voice laced with resentment.
“Grandmaster Yongjian forbade anyone from opening it. This isn’t about ownership. If you’re dissatisfied, wait for the elders to decide,” a Southern Daoist replied.
“You’re using your authority to suppress us! How arrogant!”
The Tianyin disciples, their faces flushed with anger, continued to argue, while the Southern Daoists, their expressions cold and indifferent, ignored them, refusing to hand over the jar.
It was a dispute between junior disciples, the elders likely discussing the matter in a nearby tent.
The jar, wrapped in red cloth, sat on the ground between the two groups. Chen Henian glanced at it, then walked away, standing under a tree, keeping his distance.
“Not joining them?” Zuo He asked.
Chen Henian nodded. “We’ll wait until they’re finished.”
“This isn’t normal. The Tianyin sect practices ghost cultivation, you should avoid them,” Zuo He warned. “They’re sensitive to ghostly auras. Don’t release the ghost now.”
Chen Henian looked at him as if he were an idiot. “Do you think I’m that stupid?”
“But I smell yin energy. Didn’t you release the ghost?” Zuo He asked, puzzled.
Chen Henian chuckled. “Your nose is more sensitive than theirs.”
“I smell it too, but it’s coming from over there,” Jiang Wan pointed at the jar.
Zuo He’s eyes widened in realization. “The jar!”
“Damn it!” He rushed forward, yelling, “Brothers, be careful! The ghost is escaping!”
The disciples turned to him, and just then, they heard a crack, the jar’s surface splitting, then shattering with a loud bang, releasing a cloud of white mist.
“Purification mantra!” someone yelled, and the disciples, surrounded by the mist, formed hand seals, holding their breath, chanting silently.
Chen Henian watched as the mist spread, covering a hundred meters. He had anticipated this. The jar was a common vessel for trapping ghosts, sealed with a talisman, placed in a dark corner, its contents gradually refined. But the talisman was special, sensitive to sunlight, a mistake no one had noticed during their argument.
Mistakes had consequences. The ghost had escaped.
Under the midday sun, the ghost, its yin essence vulnerable, needed a host. The mist quickly coalesced, entering the nearest Tianyin disciple through his nose and mouth.
The disciple’s body convulsed, his back arching, then straightening abruptly, his eyes glowing red, his hands turning pale, his bones cracking.
“Possessed!” the other disciples yelled. “Restrain him!”
The Southern Daoists drew their swords, aiming at the possessed disciple, their yang energy a weapon against ghosts, but they couldn’t harm the host. They struck him with the flat of their blades, aiming for his abdomen and back.
The Northern Daoists threw black beads, like bullets, at the ghost. Talismans and other artifacts filled the air, but the ghost, controlling the disciple’s body, moved with unnatural speed, throwing aside the nearest disciples, then running.
Chen Henian stood up abruptly.
The ghost, ignoring the others, was running towards him.
A greedy ghost. Taking a hostage and fleeing into the mountains would have been a better strategy. But it had chosen Chen Henian.
The disciples, regaining their composure, gave chase, a rope snagging the ghost’s legs, tripping it, but it was close enough.
It emerged from the disciple’s body, its grotesque form revealed, its intention clear.
It wanted Chen Henian’s body.
He had a needle in his hand, ready to strike, but he didn’t have to. Zuo He stepped forward, shielding him, his face calm, his sword raised, his stance firm, the blade piercing the ghost’s head.
But the ghost’s head split in two, not a bloody wound, but a dissipating mist, merging with the surrounding fog.
It wasn’t powerful, weaker than most vengeful spirits. Zuo He turned, a talisman in his hand, ready to strike, but Chen Henian stopped him with a look.
It took him a moment to understand.
Chen Henian raised his hand, and Zuo He, flanking him with Jiang Wan, formed a triangle, trapping the ghost.
The other disciples saw only Zuo He’s back, then the ghost shrieked, its shadow falling to the ground, a silver glint on its forehead.
A needle, pinning it to the ground, a red string binding it.
Chen Henian, as if unconcerned, blew on his fingers, leaning back against the tree, the three of them watching the struggling ghost in silence.
“Are you alright?” A senior disciple rushed over, and they shook their heads.
“Little Brother Zuo, is that you?” The Southern Daoists recognized him. “I thought I was seeing things.”
“What happened here, Brothers?” Zuo He asked.
“We were clearing the mountain of evil spirits, trapping them in that jar, sealed with a Grandmaster’s array. But the ghosts inside devoured each other, becoming a powerful entity. We mishandled the situation, a disgrace,” the disciple replied.
Zuo He turned to Chen Henian. “You should apologize to him, that ghost almost possessed him.”
“Our apologies, Brother, for the fright,” the disciples bowed to Chen Henian.
He didn’t reply, turning away.
The Tianyin disciple, freed from the ghost’s control, was vomiting and retching, his fellow disciples apologizing profusely.
The ghost, still pinned to the ground, struggled beneath the tree. A Southern Daoist said to Zuo He, “Your skills have improved, Little Brother. Is this a new technique Grandmaster Yongjian taught you?”
Zuo He coughed, deflecting the praise. “What should we do with this ghost?”
“Wait for Grandmaster Yongjian to decide,” the disciple replied.
“Grandmaster is here!” someone called out.
His power preceded him, a flash of golden light, like a sword, piercing the ghost’s body, burning it like fire, its form dissolving with a shriek.
It was the Southern Daoist sword intent, wielded by Grandmaster Yongjian, Zuo He’s master, dressed in a yellow robe, a wooden gourd at his waist, his steps long and steady.
Zuo He picked up the needle, placing it in his bag.
Three figures emerged from the white tent, middle-aged men, their demeanor calm and composed.
“A disgrace,” a woman with a steel sword said, and the Tianyin disciples bowed their heads. “Master, we have failed you.”
The woman sighed. “My disciple was blinded by the ghost’s influence. We apologize for the disturbance.”
A man with a broadsword laughed. “Truly embarrassing. Fortunately, I don’t take disciples, or I would also lose face.”
“But they’re not entirely incompetent. They managed to contain the ghost, at least.” His sharp eyes turned to Chen Henian. “You’re the Three Yin Hand’s disciple, aren’t you?”
Chen Henian was surprised. He hadn’t introduced himself yet.
“Resume your patrol, don’t linger here,” Grandmaster Yongjian dismissed the disciples.
Chen Henian, his presence acknowledged, couldn’t hide any longer. “Elder,” he bowed respectfully.
The woman smiled. “A Tai Yin body, of course.”
“Look at that old scoundrel, sneaking around, stealing the Tai Yin body for himself, leaving us empty-handed! As always, he gets the best treasures.”
“Watch your words,” Grandmaster Yongjian said, his voice laced with disapproval, and the man chuckled. “I know my manners. Don’t worry, lad, no one here will harm you, except for Hu Busun, her yin techniques are formidable, be wary of her.”
“Wang Laosan! Don’t talk nonsense, I’m not interested in a little boy!” Hu Busun glared at him. “We all know the difference between a sesame seed and a watermelon. Grandmaster Yongjian, since the Northern sect leader isn’t here, you’re in charge. Who will take care of this boy?”
“I will, of course,” Yongjian replied. “Go on, go on, tend to your own disciples. We’ve already discussed the matter at hand. I have family matters to attend to now.”
“Is this a family matter?” Wang Laosan protested, but Yongjian said, “My disciple and his brother, of course it’s a family matter.”
“Master,” Zuo He said.
Yongjian walked over, standing between Chen Henian and Zuo He. “Come with me, let’s talk in the pavilion.”
He led them to a nearby pavilion.
Chen Henian realized that Yongjian, the eldest and most respected, held the authority among the three sects.
“How old are you?” Yongjian asked him.
“Eighteen,” he replied.
“And your name?”
“Chen Henian.”
Yongjian frowned. “Is your mother’s surname Chen?”
“No.”
Yongjian looked at him, his eyes searching. “Are you sure you’re not Zhou Xianzhi’s son?”
Chen Henian paused. “Of course not.”
“Good.” Yongjian slapped his thigh, his expression unreadable. “Good, I didn’t think that scoundrel could find a decent wife, let alone produce such handsome offspring.”
“And… what’s your sister’s name?” He looked at Jiang Wan.
“I’m not his sister,” she said. “My surname is Jiang.”
“Jiang?” Yongjian chuckled. “One surnamed Jiang, one surnamed Chen, how strange. You’re not Zhou Xianzhi’s disciple?”
“No, just a friend,” she replied.
“Just a friend…” Yongjian’s eyes narrowed, his hand stroking his beard. “I see, even the ghost control technique has appeared.”
Jiang Wan’s smile faltered.
“You youngsters are quite a lively bunch, even more so than my generation,” he continued. “But your master didn’t inform me of your arrival. That scoundrel has trained you well. Since you’re here, I’ll take care of you.”
“Your master was my junior brother. Call me Uncle-Master, it won’t hurt you.” He sat back, waiting.
“Uncle-Master,” Chen Henian said, and Yongjian smiled, nodding in approval. He stood up, slapping Zuo He lightly on the head. “You foolish disciple, two months down the mountain, and you’ve already made friends?”
Zuo He rubbed his head, nodding. “Yes.”
“Why didn’t you inform me?” Yongjian glared at him. “Did you see your Uncle-Master?”
“Yes,” Zuo He replied. “But I didn’t want to disturb him, or you, Master. Didn’t you say it’s best not to speak of the past?”
“Stubborn fool,” Yongjian sighed, shaking his head, then turned to Chen Henian, his voice warmer. “Henian, with your special constitution, are you planning to enter the tomb?”
Chen Henian nodded.
“I don’t want you to go down there,” Yongjian said. “Can I stop you?”
Chen Henian shook his head. “If you know my master, you know me.”
“The things down there are dangerous,” Yongjian warned him. “If the situation gets out of control, you’ll be the most vulnerable.”
“I know,” Chen Henian replied.
“Then what can I say? Like master, like disciple, both stubborn fools.” Yongjian snorted. “Have you eaten? It’s not lunchtime yet. Foolish disciple, take them to the food tent. I’ll arrange accommodation for you later.”
“Go on.”
He turned and walked away.
Chen Henian watched him, the man’s easy familiarity not unpleasant, his tone reminiscent of Zhou Xianzhi.
“Your master is a capable man,” Jiang Wan said.
“Of course, besides Grandmaster, he’s the most powerful person on the mountain,” Zuo He replied, smiling. “Don’t worry, we’re family.”
“Let’s go eat, we’re here now, there’s no rush.” He led them to a white tent, a temporary dining area.
“Little Brother!” A disciple in white robes waved at them, rushing over and putting his arm around Zuo He’s shoulder, whispering in his ear, “I knew you hadn’t eaten yet. I saved you a meat bun, it’s still warm in the kitchen. There’s only one, but there’s plenty of porridge and steamed buns if your friends are hungry. You’ve lost weight, you need to eat more.”
“Don’t forget to eat,” he patted Zuo He’s shoulder and left.
The tent was almost empty. Zuo He returned with three bowls of porridge. “Try this, our special green flower porridge, it’s sweet.”
Chen Henian and Jiang Wan each took a sip, finding it palatable, then stirred it occasionally with their spoons.
Zuo He brought the meat bun, placing it before Chen Henian.
“Your senior brother gave it to you,” Chen Henian said, pushing it away. “I don’t want it.”
“Eat it,” Zuo He said calmly, taking a sip of his porridge. “If your master hadn’t left our sect, you would be the junior brother, and I would be the senior brother. This is what a senior brother does.”
Chen Henian didn’t take it, his hand hovering over the bun, Zuo He’s stubbornness unwavering.
Chen Henian sighed, rolling his eyes. “Crazy.”
But he took the bun, taking a large bite, the savory filling, seasoned with mushrooms, surprisingly delicious. They ate in silence, the only sound the clinking of spoons against bowls, his hand carefully holding the bun, preventing the greasy filling from dripping.
Being a junior brother wasn’t so bad after all.
